My Connaught cousins. A novel

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BY THE SAME AUTHOR,
Uniform with " The Quten of Connaught^*

THE DARKCOLLEEN.

SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

'The author of "The Queen of Connaught " has again given to the world
an interesting and romantic tale. . . . Very original is the charm of the
early days of poor Morna's romance, the rugged grandeur of her home, the

EicCuresque haoits and primitive ceremonies, the tenderness and ferocity of
er melancholy Celtic kindred.' — Atherutum,

^ * Lively and spirited, abounding with fresh conceptions and picturesque
situations. No more striking locale could have been chosen than Ea^le
Island — a semi-savage islet on the west coast of Ireland, with its primitive
manners and customs, and its strange race of half-Celtic, half-Spanish in-
habitants. ' — Globe.

* The originality of the story is complete. Its charm lies in the picture of
a free and unfamiliar life. . . .' Poor Morna's return to Eagle Island,
tired, forsaken, and heartily sick of the unknown world that had seemed so
charming, makes a touching scene. . . . Certain states of emotion — as,
for example, the sorrow of Moma, and her bewilderment when she finds
that Bisson has ceased to love her ; certain aspects of nature in seas and
mountains — are very delicately and carefully rendered. The mixed char-
acter of Louander, the mate, with his love, which would fain be honourable,
awakening a certain gentleness in a hardened disposition, is also a clever
study.*— /»«// Mall Gazette,

^ * Unquestionably a book of mark. ... In her word pictures and still-
life scenes the author is all that could be desired. . . . Moma is a very
fascinating conception, and drawn with great truth and tenderness of
feeling.'— 5?ra/A«:.

' We have scarcely a fault to find. ... It may and should be read.
. . . Morna's savage purity, and at the same time her depths of passion,
are most admirably drawn. The book is an excellent piece of work. —
Acadetny,

*This fresh and unconventional romance, whose charm is in its vivid

delineations of the weird inhabitants of Eagle^ Island, and of the varying
aspects of this lone spot in the ocean, according to whether the Atlantic
peacefully laps its shores or dashes with the fury of the tempest on its
rocks.' — Illustrated London News.

' We may possibly find in its author a worthy successor, though in a some-
what different line, to those great bygone delineators of Irish life and
character whose names have become household words. . . . Considered
merely as a telling story, " The Dark Colleen " is admirable. The pictures
of the simple peasant life upon Eagle Island, with its alternate toil and
merry-making, its dangers and its pleasures, give a delightful impression of
the inhabitants of the solitary spot. . . . These the author has por-
trayed in a manner which is ob^'lously the result of knowledge and actual
observation, and is worthy of all praise.' — Morning Post,

* A novel which possesses the rare and valuable quality of novelty . . .
the scenery will be strange to most readers, and in many passages the aspects
of Nature are very cleverly described. Moreover, the book is a study of
a very curious and interesting state of society. . . . The life is that of
people as unsophisticated and as much their own rulers as the dwellers in
the woodland villages in George Sand's '*Maltres Sonneurs." ... A
novel which no novel reader should miss, and which people who generally
shun novels may go out of their way to tn}oy.'— Saturday Review.

VOL. I.

a

»Y TlIS SAME AUTHOR,
In I Vol^ Frici ai.,

AT ALL BOOKSELLERS,

IHti QUEEN OF CONNAUGHT.

Vi^.l/A OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

I > r<i Htvl ( 'Hiimon paMed away, we have had little of Irish life in
. .11 I \\\'\\ \\\\\* hHti lacked character and power. This new writer
, ...I >. hI HlllMg Iha vacant place.^ . . . This novel contains an

I ,,,!' nut* l*f ' *

I) II

I 1

ti »• t«t |<l»<l AHtt MnMtion. faithful character, study, and powerful
A |4MMk Iti bo welcomed and read with delight m these times
iHt>-^4 \ti t »iM ispliun, its racy, rattling humour, and its ridiculous-
M, nitt>-« •»• ••jjttly (Uithed with deep thought— all of which combine
\ in >.»».|.|UImh»I power on the part of the author.'— ^n/»A QntirUrijf

\ M iM'l^ kiiiuular, and quite unlike any other tale that has ever ap-
\ , Mill U ttrt« rtltout it a strange fascination. In reading it, one seems
<.<iUt< into Mome strange land of t)oetry and romance.

Jl'UI

..IH If

», I

\\u IJuntffi of Connaught" is a series of very skilfully executed
,tt.)« |M 0k«nt a wonderful appearance of reality. Poor Kathleen
t^M »tyiii|{ how mistaken her life has been, and she does not desire

»(ii>i

,,. Iiml Movnr understood, and whose guodness she has never doubted,

•(III.

lU now misiaKen ner nie nas oeen. ana sne aoes noi aesire
n\\% dies in the arms of the faithful husband whom till

{ t

, ,, „ ..k 1 4VK l(M« followed her to the end. and will long survive her. A

\\ 'ir ItiMd i^liiiy Indeed, full of pathos and full of humour, is this "Queen
I I u ril.l" MormmPost,

\ A >ki s\\A\ rombines considerable inventiveness, and plot power with
MtiU >*^ itmractcr and fresh picturesque description. . .^ . Our

I I • <vlll MiH fiiil to be struck by the intimate knowledge of Irish ways

,\ ii^h*Mi«i Him subtle instinct for the finer distinguishing traits in Irish

t HI •»•» I Htni lh«y will no doubt appreciate also the sense at once of

(i liitini<Hl ut IrUh life, and of the delicacy, the sentiment, and the rough

I liMiib rtMtl itaro-devilry that are so oddly intermingled in it. . . .

\ <i ikihMm ftiM a U noticeable throughout, no less than true descriptive knack.

Allko to those who seek striking incident and picture, and those

„ li . •.♦.♦-t MU»ra solid teaching, "The Queen of Connaught" may be very

, ,|'.U ♦♦.•♦•♦fiMiended.'— A^<wK'<w«/<>rw«w/.

l\ n>\i iiBW Mubject is treated in this story with great freshness and
,'li'MtMy 'I'h* tAlo ^^y ^^ ^^^ to be a study of the Irish character and
\ .Mit<*>t'«iM«liti impartial and thoughtful in its intention, and cleverly executed,
|)i <Hiil« <li<* Author's contempt for the class of characters chiefly described is
,|..ll,|». ^ii"MKh> • • • Nothing can be happier or more eraphic than the
t<MM«M('>« i1*M:rlptlon of the kind of society which frequents O'Mara Castle as
K ,H»} r«* Knthlaen restores the glories of its ancient hospitality. The humours
I,) ilip Mif ifity that flock there, from Timothy Linney, the stately old man
tvliM >ll*litM(«N the master of his house from his own chair because he has
u|.t.M rt fttfiRy to it, to Biddy Cranby, the poor craiy woman who starves
|«».MM|f, In both senses of the word, to feed and clothe her children, are
h^liilnM with a picturesque breadth and liveliness that add sensibly to
Hliit'ii knowledge of human nature itself. . . . It is a most charming
httnly of a suoject full of colour, light and shadow, and one that rises
kl^Mfllly in interest up to the close. The third volume is decidedly the best
iif ill* three, and the scene which comes most nearly up to the ideal point in
iMtwer, in the critical scene of the book, where Kathleen, drenchea by the
Morm, and alone, faces the conspirators against her husband's life, in the
ilreary solitude of their mountain hiding-place. . . . Situations of less
Intensity are often painted with consummate skill. ... All are etched
with a most faithful and skilful hand. . . . This tale is full of life, skill,
and insight.'— w?Af/«/<w.

MY CONNAUGHT COUSINS,

BY

HARRIETT JAY,

n ((

AUTHOR OF "THE QUEEN OF OONNAUGHT, ' "TWO MEN AND

»»

A MAID," ETC., EfC.

IN THREE VOL UME8.

VOL. I.

LONDON: F. V. WHITE &
31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C

18 8 3.

[AU RiyhU reterved.]

■L

^^l.'fi. li^W

F. V. WHITE & OO.'S

SELECT NOVELS.

Crown SvOf cloth^ 3J. dd, each.

The following Volumes of the Series are now ready:—
MY SISTEH THE ACTRESS. By Florence Marry at.

' " My Sister the Actress " is the best novel we have had the pleasure of
reading from the pen of Miss Marryat.' — yoAn Bull.

THE DEAN'S WIFE. By Mrs Eiloart.

' Any reader who wants a good story thoroughly well told cannot do better
than read " The Dean's Wife." '—yokn Bull.

A BROKEN BLOSSOM. By Florence Marryat.

'A really charming story, full of delicate pathos and quiet humour;
pleasant to read and pleasant to remember.' — yoAn Bull.

TWO MEN AND A MAID. By Harriett Jay.

* Compared with the former works of the authoress of " The Queen of
O^nnaught," this novel must be pronounced second to none.' — Graphic.

SWEETHEART AND WIFK By Lady Constance
Howard.

'The story from first to last is attractive, and cannot fail to command
wide favour.' — IVhitehall Review.

PHYLLIDA. By Florence Marryat.

'"Phyllida" is a novel of which the author may be justly proud.'—
Morning Post.

BARBARA'S WARNING. By the Author of * Recom-
mended to Mercy.'

COLSTON A2<D bON, FKINTJSUS, JCDIMBUKQU.

PREFATORY NOTE.

I HE Authoress of My Connaught
Cousins, smarting under a cer-
tain misconception, but think-
ing that polemics of any kind ill befit
a lady's pen, has asked me to write a
few prefatory words explaining how this
book and its predecessors came to be
written, and how unjust is the charge,
made in one influential quarter, that
she is an enemy to Irish nationality.
The task is a diflScult one, especially as I

iv Preface.

sympathise more strongly than she does
with the present political movement, and
nm, indeed, much more of an advanced
LibonJ ; but we are entirely at one in
iUir sympathy with the social life and
nin\a of the Irish people, and in our love
|\^r wliat is best and noblest in the Irish
luiturc. In these days of haste and folly,
MUVthing really original in literature is
cortnin to be misunderstood. When the
Qucvn of ConrwLught appeared, its great
ttud instantaneous success was unconnected
with its most sterling characteristic — that
of an entirely new (but I believe the only
true) reading of the national character and
temperament. Subsequent events have jus-
tified that reading in an extraordinary
manner ; and it is clearly understood now
that the familiar Irishman of literature and

Preface. v

the stage, the merry, good-humoured "Pat "
of a thousand novels and melodramas, was
more or less a product of the inner con-
sciousness. In a subsequent but far less
successful work, unpopular from its rigid
and terrible truth of delineation, the Au-
thoress put her finger on the canker which
now, as heretofore, poisons the wholesome
life of Ireland ; but the Priest's Blessing,
though neglected now, will live as perhaps
the most powerful social study that ever
came from the mind of a young girl. No
unprejudiced person who reads that work,
and takes it in connection with other works
from the same pen, will doubt its deep in-
sight — I should say, its unparalleled insight
— ^into the nature of the Irish peasant.

The Authoress of these works went to
Ireland when very young, lived for years

VI Preface.

in the wildest and loneliest part of the
wild and lonely West, and was first in-
spired to literary efibrt by what she saw
and haew. Her pictures were drawn from
the very life, of which she was all that
time a portion. She had no prejudices
and no predispositions, and her sympathy,
above aU, was for the suffering people ;
and if in her portrayal she often had to
describe moral darkness, she did so with
a full sense of what was brightest and
best on the other side of the picture.
Behind the wretchedness and the squalor,
the ignorance and the prejudice, beginning
in misconception and culminating in crime,
she showed the deep tenderness, the de-
voted patience, the sweetness and the
purity, of the Celtic temperament. The
characters of Dunbeg in the Queen of Con-

Preface, vii

naughty of Patrick O'Connor in the Priest's
Blessing, of James Merton in the present
work, are, as living types, unique in liter-
ature ; and the infinite pity of literary
sympathy was never better exemplified
than in the life story of " Madge Dun-
raven " and " Morna Dunroon," or than in
the tender idyll of " How Andy Beg
became a Fairy."

Among the first to recognise the unique
power of these stories, their fidelity to
human nature, and their predominant dra-
matic power, was one of the foremost
moral teachers of this or any time, — Mr
Reade. Had they been unveracious, had
they been in any sense productions of the
inner consciousness, they would never have
attracted that most keen-sighted of social
observers ; had they lacked sympathy for

viii Pref(ice.

their subject, had they been opposed to
what was best in Irish life and character
they would never have won his approval.
But their veracity is vital and will prevail.
Meantime, the reader is to be warned that
they contain many things, present many
pictures, which the false friends and sum-
mer lovers of Ireland must naturally re-
gard with suspicion and dislike. The true
friends of Ireland, and all those who
honestly sympathise with the national as-
pirations, will find in them that truth
which genius only can reveal, and which,
when once revealed, is fairer than any
falsehood, however brightly drawn.

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

MY COfflAUGHT COUSINS.

CHAPTER L

)T was midsummer. The hottest
sun that had wanned our soil
for years shone its brightest
upon city and suburb. All my friends
were in the country, yet I remained
shut up in my chambers, with nothing
fairer to gaze upon than the withered
grass and drooping trees of a smutty,
smoke-begrimed London square. Heigho !
It was weary work staying in London
when all the world was wandering away

VOL. I. A

2 My Connaught Cousins.

by wood and stream! When I walked
out the heat of the pavement scorched
the leather of my shoes ! The West End
streets which I traversed were all deserted
save for a few Indian ayahs and dyspeptic-
looking gentlemen of the Baystock breed,
who evidently existed on curry and red
pepper, and felt no sort of discomfort
when the thermometer registered one hun-
dred in the shade. It was actually my
first experience of summer in town ! —
that lucky spoon which had been in my
possession ever since I was bom with it
in my mouth, having managed like an
enchanter's wand to deposit me every for-
mer summer upon the bank of a salmon
river or the knolls of a grouse moor.
For once, however, my luck had failed me,
since, despite their winter's hard work,
my hands lay passively in almost empty
pockets, and my eyes rested gloomily
upon the scorched and grimy streets of
Babylon. Babylon without the "waters,"

My Connaugkt Cousins. 3

or anything suggestive of coolness and
pastoral rest.

As I mused and sulked, my meditations
were disturbed by a step proceeding slowly
round the square, and thrusting my head
out of the window I beheld the postman.
Even his habitually brisk tread had changed
that day into a lagging desultory kind of
stroll. He came wearily on; he paused
before my door.

" Could the letter be for me ? " I won-
dered, having nothing more important to
occupy my brain,— for the postman had
slipped a missive into the letter-box, given
his feeble rat-tat, and strolled vacuously
away. I wa^ so much occupied with
watching the man's retreating figure, that
I was hardly conscious of a step on the
stair, a tap at the door, and not until I
heard the words, — *'A letter, sir, if you
please," did I turn my head.

Then it was for me ! — a white square
envelope, addressed to *' John Stedman,

4 My Cannaught

EBq.** in a hand whidi seemed, yet was not
altogether, familiar. After scanning the
writing I turned to the seal, and then I
beheld, printed in smaU capitals, the word
BaU jshanrany, and about it was entwined
the triple-leaved shamrock. Having gazed
for a few minutes at the mystical emblem,
and still more mystical word, I tore open
the envelope, and proceeded to acquaint
myself with the contents. There were
two letters, the first of which ran a&
follows : —

'' Ballyahanrany,
Storport^

County Majo,
Ireland.

"My deab Nephew, — The girls, ever
impatient to make your acquaintance, have
for the. last ten days been worrying my
life out to invite you here. In vain have
I protested ; in vain have I told them that
a young Londoii barrister must have more
engagements than he knows what to do

My Connaught Cousins, 5

with ; although I have asked you three
times already, they declare that the third,
time is lucky, and that if I send this letter
you'll come. So I send it. If you are not
already disposed of for the season, I cer-
tainly believe you might do worse than,
spend a few weeks down here. We are
homely, but comfortable ; I can manage
to put you in the way of a little sport ;rr
Kate, who is a capital housekeeper, will
see that you are properly fed, and the
rest have promised to do what they ,caQ
to amuse you. There's half-a-dozen of
them, remember, but they are not bad
colleens as colleens go, and if you come,
fiure they'll give you a hearty welcome.!
Think it over, and let us hear from yoqi
Your affectionate uncle, A. Kenmabk"

I read the letter twice ; then throwing
it on the table, I sat down lazily, cigar
in mouth, to take my uncle's parting word.
of advice. I thought over his proposition,

6 My Connaught Cousins.

and the more I thought of it, the more I
seemed to like it. I felt irresistibly im-
pelled to accept it, at the same time I
could not help regretting that I did not
know a little more of the relations under
whose roof I was invited to reside.

My uncle was an Irishman to the back-
bone, and, as far as I could gather, as warm-
hearted an old fellow as ever trod the soil.
Most of his early days had been spent in
India, and it was not till rather late in life
that he returned, married my mother'a
youngest sister, and settled down upon hia
native soil. As far as any family communi-
cation was concerned, they might have
settled in Kamskatka, for after the maxriage
they seemed to be exiled entirely from their
friends ; but we heard from time to time
that they were happy, and that strange
little faces were appearing upon their
hearth. At length one morning — ^about
six years before the day on which my
uncle's third invitation fell into my hands —

My Connaught Cousins, 7

there came to our house a piece of news
which almost broke my mother's heart,
for she heard that her favourite sister,
after having presented her husband with
half-a-dozen daughters, had died, while the
sixth little stranger was still a baby at her
breast.

After this, the connection of the Ken-
mares with our branch of the family
seemed to cease. We heard little or
nothing of them, and I, busily engaged in
working my way in the world, almost
forgot that such close kin existed at all.
I vaguely remembered, now that the cir-
cumstance was recalled to my mind, having
received two letters of invitation from the
old gentleman ; but the invitations, coming
doubtless at busy times, had never hitherto
been tempting enough to draw me to Ire-
land. I had, consequently, written a polite
refusal and dismissed the whole family from
my mind.

Now, however, the case was different-

8 My ConnaugJU Cousins.

I had nothing to do ; I had nowhere to
go ; I was stifling in the smoky air of
London, and longing for a breeze from
the sea. Yes, the invitation was certainly
tempting ; it was one, moreover, which I
should have accepted without a moment's
hesitation, but for one appalling contin-
gency — ^the half-dozen girls.

To some young fellows this might have
been an inducement; to me it was the
contrary. Nature never meant me for a
lady's man, and the typical girl of modem
life was certainly not to my taste. It was
all very well to pass half-an-hour with
persons of the other sex in a London
drawing-room, but to have to spend one's
entire vacation, surrounded by girls, was
rather too much of a good thing.

" During the vacation," I reflected, " one
wants male society, fair sport, and good
cigars. To visit Ballyshanrany simply
means that I am to be perpetually bored
with haJf-a-dozen boisterous Irish hoydens.

My Connaugkt Caiisins. 9

The invitation, though sorely tempting,
won't do for a bashful man. I will write
my refusal without a moment's delay."

I rose to carry out my resolution, when
iny eye, wandering over the carpet, fell upon
a folded sheet of paper which lay at my
feet. Suddenly I remembered what, until
then, I had entirely forgotten, — ^the second
letter which the envelope contained, and
which I had never taken the trouble to
open at all. I lifted it, unfolded the sheet,
and read as follows : —

** Dearest Cousin Jack, — ^Ever since we
read your speech in the paper, we have
been dying to see you, so we hope that
when you answer papa's letter this time,
you will not have the heart to say * no.'
We have not the least idea what you are
like ; but we have conjured up all sorts
of visions which are, no doubt, all wrong ;
but one thing we have decided, which
is that, no matter what you are like, we

lo My Cannaugki Cousins.

mean to look after you just the same a£P
papa. Nora will see to your gun with
papa's; Biddy wiU make cartridges for
you, and Aileen will tie you some of her
best flies ; you shall do just as you like, and
if you would rather not be bothered with:
80 many girls, you shall spend nearly all
your time alone with papa. But do come X
Tour affectionate Cousins

Kathleen,

Nora,

AlLEEK,
OONA,

Bridget,

Amy, ^^
Her mark.

"P./S. — ^Excuse the large blot. Amy writes
80 badly we thought it better to make her
put her mark, and in her excitement she-
made the blot instead, Kathleen."

I sat down at once and wrote my reply.

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1

I

" My dearest little Connaught
Cousins, — "When I read your father's letter,
I intended to refuse his invitation, for I am
afraid of girls in general, and the thought
of being surrounded by half-a-dozen ap-
palled me ; but since I have read your letter
my mind has changed. I have a sort of
feeling you must be rather nice, and
the temptation to make sure being too
great to be resisted, I mean to come. I
have a few things to settle before I can
leave London, but in about a week from to-
day expect me, — ^Believe me, till then, your
affectionate cousin. Jack Stedman."

Having written the above, I added a line
to the old gentleman, and the thing was
done. In exactly a week from that day, I
turned my back on the smoke of London,
and set out with heroic heart to try life in
the wilds of Connaught.

CHAPTER 11.

DREARY day and a dreary
prospect ; the air was damp
and chilly, and a thin misty
rain was falling and slowly penetrating to
the skin of the half-clothed little urchins
who were either crouching in the doorways
or wildly driving along their donkeys
loaded with creels of turf.

I was surveying this prospect from the
window of the hotel, when the waiter
suddenly appeared and announced that the
car was at the door to convey me to my
journey's end. I found the landlord with a
face fit to grace a funeral. From the
moment of hearing my place of destination,

My Connaught Cousins. 15

he had looked upon me as raving mad, and
had accordingly treated me with great
forbearance, as a person who was per-
haps, on the whole, harmless enough,
but not at all responsible for his actions.
As for getting any information from him
about the place, that was perfectly hope-
less. When I approached the subject, he
merely answered, " Ah, it is a wild country,
sir," sighed deeply, shrugged his shoulders,
and walked off, evidently feeling that he
had done his duty ; and if I was rash
enough to go after tbat, why, I must take
the consequences. Around him stood the
ostler, the waiter, the boots, and about a
dozen little ragged gorsoons, who stared at
me with all their might and main, scrambled
to obtain the few pence which were scattered
amongst them, and uttered a wild Hooroo !
as the car rolled away. The landlord's
parting sigh was wafted to me on the
chilly wind, and had the effect of damp-
ing my spirits for at least one half of the

14 My Connaught Cotisins.

day. So I rolled out of the town of Bally-
ferry, in the county of Mayo, Ireland, and
was soon speeding along westward towards
the ocean.

The beginning of the drive was not
very enjoyable ; the misty rain fell unceas-
ingly, and the chilly wind was gradually
awakening rheumatic reminiscences in my
bones. The district through which I was
passing was truly "a wUd country," for
the most part flat and boggy, and disfigured
here and there by unsightly mounds of
fresh-cut turf; yet the recent rain had
imparted greenness and freshness to the
small patches of pasture, and given tone
and richness of colour to the little knolls
of purple heather here and there dotted
about the unsightly bogs. The dim brown
tinge of the melancholy landscape was
saddened still more by the dark and
lowering atmosphere ; not a hill was to
be seen, and not a tree; nothing but a
dark and dreary waste bordered on either

My Connaught Cousins. 15

-side by a heavy mist and a threatening
«ky.

I was on my way to Storport, and in
.«pite of various misadventures by land
^md sea, I had so far managed to retain
my ardent desire to try life in the wilds
of Connaught. But I had not been many
hours in Ballyferry, the nearest point at-
tainable by rail, and fifty long miles from
my destination, when my ardour was con-
siderably damped by the dreary prog-
nostics of O'Shaughnessy, the innkeeper,
and his ragged retinue. Even the driver
of the car seemed to be affected while
under his master's eye; but directly we
turned the comer which shut the hotel
from sight, his spirits rose considerably.
He cracked his whip, shouted, whistled,
yelled, and we sped aloDg merrily —
soon to be joined by an excited Irish-
man, dressed in a blue bob-tail coat with
brass buttons, knee breeches, and a brim-
less chimney-pot hat, who was smoking a

1 6 My Connaught Cousins.

very dirty, short pipe, and seated on the
back of a donkey. An exciting race en-
sued. My driver cracked his whip, and
whistled ; the Irishman brandished his
shillelagh and shouted and screamed at
the top of his voice, and we rattled along
in a perfect shower of mud and rain. The
little donkey kept up bravely, and once or
twice was on the point of leaving us behind
altogether. But at last, after a short but
sharp ride, Pat disappeared, with a defiant
wave of the shillelagh, down an adjoining
road.

After this little distraction, the drive
became more and more dreary and unin-
teresting; the thick mist shut out any
view I might have had of the surround-
ing country ; the driver seemed to lose all
his spirits, though he still endeavoured in
a moody way to urge the horses on.
Hoping to put a little life into him, I
handed him a drink from my flask, and
told him to take it easy, as the horses

My Connaught Cousins. 17

were perhaps rather tired after their late
race, but he had evidently no intention of
letting them " take it easy," for he whipped
and shouted louder than ever; then he
turned to me and breathlessly exclaimed, —

" Faith, sor, the lazy beasts must make
better speed than they're doing, or we'll
never reach the river before night."

*'Well, suppose we don't, it's not such
a dreadful place, I suppose ? "

" Troth, it is though," he answered em-
phatically ; " the river is tidal, and when
it is swollen with the rain, the current
is strong enough to sweep the horses off
their legs. It's a dangerous place; steep
hills on both sides, and a rough, broken
road ; one false step would may-be lead
to your death. Did your honor not hear
about it in Ballyferry ? "

" Not a word. Have you ever crossed
it before ? "

" Only once, your honor. I was taking
some young colleens across — ^it was these

VOL. I. B

1 8 My Connaught Cousins.

ponies I had; when we got into the
water, one of the traces broke, and the
whole weight fell on the one pony. It
was a mercy she was a quiet and strong
beast, and she managed to carry us through.
It had been a dry season, and the water
was low, and the tide was out, or. Lord, I
think we should have been killed, for the
poor beast could never have stood against
the current with such a load on her back."

" And do you think it is much swollen
to-day ? "

" Faith, I do then, for not one dry day
have we seen for eight weeks; but we'll
just stop here and ask about it from a
man I know."

Suiting the action to the word, he accord-
ingly pulled up before a little thatched
cottage which stood on the roadside, and
called out some mystical sentence in Irish.
After this had been repeated once or twice,
a queer, smoke-dried looking old man made
his appearance^ and answered in the same

My Connaught Cousins. 19

unknown tongue. A conversation there-
upon ensued, which, to judge from the
despairing looks of the driver, was scarcely
of an agreeable nature. At last he explained
to me that things looked as black as they
could possibly be ; the tide was in, the
river was dreadfully swollen by the recent
rain, and we would most probably not be
able to cross before midnight, when the
tide would be out. On hearing all this,
I decided to go on and reconnoitre, as we
might after all be able to get through, and
if the worst came we must just camp on
the banks until daybreak. So after again
receivmg te cheeLg mformation, "If,
to a wUd country your honour's goin',"
I once more sped on my way.

As the weather still showed no signs of
clearing, I rolled myself comfortably in my
rugs, and prepared to take a slight doze ;
but just as I was dropping into a quiet
sleep, I was suddenly called back to this
fretful world by a frightful babble of voices,

20 My Connaught Cousins.

and the car coming to a fall stop. On look-
ing up to ascertain the cause of the delay,
I saw that I was close on the banks of
a stream which rushed down with great
force between two steep hills. On the op-
posite bank stood half-a-dozen ragged-look-
ing Irishmen, wildly gesticulating and
shouting out unintelligible words which
were almost drowned in the roar of the
waters. I looked around to the driver
for an explanation, but he had disappeared
from the box, and was down at the water's
edge answering his Irish friends in their
own wild way. My first fears were at once
confirmed ; this, then, was the river. But
how were we to cross it ? It was so swollen
by the continual rain and the full tide, that
it seemed simply impossible for the horses
to get through. With a quickly beating
heart, I anxiously watched the faces of the
men as they carried on their excited con-
versation. Then one of them commenced
to sound the passage, by sticking in a long

My Connaught Cousins. 21

stick. This proceeding was not of the
slightest use, apparently, as he could not
reach half a yard beyond the bank, but it
evidently satisfied his companions, and after
a little more shouting and waving the
driver returned and announced his intention
of crossing.

" The boys think we had better make a
dash at it," he said, " and we'll maybe come
through safe — ^for if we wait for days we'll
never have a better chance."

" But do you think these men are to be
trusted ? " I asked.

"Faith, are they no, sir," he answered
indignantly ; " they've all the O'Donnell
blood in their veins, and if I bade them lift
the ponies and carry them over, they'd
never refuse."

SHenced at once by this proof of clannish
fidelity, I allowed him to prepare the car,
and when all was ready, I screwed up my
courage to the highest pitch, and bravely
took my seat by his side. The horses went

22 My Connaught Cousins.

down the hill at a spanking rate, and so
steep was the descent, that once or twice
I felt that the car would certainly be over-
turned; but the roughness of the road
acted as a sort of drag, and saved us from
any catastrophe.

Then we entered the river! such a
splashing, jolting, and shouting was never
heard ! Only the horses' backs were above
water, and the car was half buried. How-
ever, they brought us safely through,
gaUoped furiously up the steep ascent be-
yond, never once pausing until they stood
panting and steaming on the top of the hilL
I glanced back and shuddered at the ugly
place through which I had come, then I in-
quired how far it was to Storport.

" Ten miles," was the quiet reply ; " but
there is a little shebeen close by where we
will take a rest."

The shebeen referred to was a tiny
thatched hut standing in the roadside bog.
When I first entered the room, .the turf

My Connaught Cousins. 23

smoke was so thick that I could see nothing ;
but after a few moments my eyes grew more
accustomed to it, and I could discern the
bright flames of a fire which was burning in
the middle of the floor, the smoke issuing
through a hole in the roof. Over the fire
was a large black cauldron suspended from
a thick, black iron chain which hung from
the rafters; and around it sat on their
hams several old women with their
elbows on their knees, all smoking short
clay pipes very black with age, and chatter-
ing away in Irish. The whole scene forcibly
reminded me of the " Witch scene " in
" Macbeth," only the cauldron, instead of
containing mystic ingredients, was filled with
substantial potatoes. The floor of the other
half of the room was strewn with straw, on
which reposed two pigs, a sheep, a horse,
and any number of hens.

I speedily escaped into the fresh air to
examine the state of the weather and the
country.

24 My Connaught Cousins.

The thin misty rain stiU feU, but the
lowering sky had begun to brighten and to
show signs of clear weather coming. The
landscape was of the same flat and boggy
description as it had been throughout the
journey ; nothing to enliven the scene ; not
even a stone wall to vary the monotony of
the desert land — all was dull, flat, and unpro-
fitable. The very road was almost a bog,
so sodden was it by the continual rain ; and
outside the door of the hut the pigs and
ducks were waddling in the mire. The
prospect so damped my spirits, that I hailed
lii joy the Tppearance of the horses.
They were led by an old man, dressed in
the usual bob-tail coat and brimless hat,
who addressed me with a queer mixture of
dignity and respect.

" You re going to Storport, sir ? " he
said, touching his brimless hat in a stately
military manner.

" Yes."

" It's a wild country, sir ! "

My Connaught Cousins. 25

I turned my eyes on the surrounding
prospect.

" If it's wHder than this," I involuntajily
exclaimed, " it must be wild indeed."

" You see, sir," he continued, " here we lie
snug and low, and the wind can't very well
get at us, but, in troth, sir, at Storport — ^"

I heard no more, for driven to despera-
tion by the reiteration of these dreary
prophecies, I jumped on to the car and
drove away.

The dismal vapours gradually cleared oflf,
and ere long we got a peep of sunshine.
The land was less barren, and here and
there it was relieved by pastures and grassy
hillocks. As we rolled along the hillocks
gradually disappeared, and were replaced
by heathery mountains. At last I was
aroused by the joyful words, —

" This is Storport, sir ; " and I caught my
first sight of the little village.

One glance convinced me that Storport
had been libelled by my roadside inform-

26 My CannaugtU Cousins.

ante. The bad effects of the dreary pro-
phecies which I had heard vanished from
my mind as I beheld the quiet little haven
of beauty which opened out before my
delighted gaze.

The car had come to a standstill on the
top of the hill. I turned to the man, and
asked if we had many miles further to go.

'' Sorra mile, or half a mile either/' was
the reply.

Can you see the house, then ? "
I cannot, yer honor, but I can see the
chimbleys of it I See there, sir," he added,
pointing to a clump of trees, from the midst
of which streaks of smoke were issuing,
" that is Ballyshanrany ! "

" Point me out the nearest route to the
house," I said to the driver. " I'll finish the
journey on foot."

I leapt from the car as I spoke, and,
having ordered him to follow with my
luggage, I took a path which he pointed
out to me across the bog. It was certainly

My Connaught Cousins. 27

a very short cut; a walk of ten minutes
brought me to the road again, and I found
myself standing close to an iron gate, the
private entrance to the grounds.

I had raised my hand to open the gate,
when the silence all around me was suddenly
broken by a silvery peal of laughter. I
waited till it ceased, then I laid my hand
upon the gate, which swung back noiselessly
upon its hinges, and entered the grounds.

I could see nothing, for tall trees rose on
either side, and the broad carriage drive,
which I trod, took a sudden and sharp curve ;
the house was completely hidden ; I walked
quietly on; then I turned the curve, and
came in full view of the dwelling.

The house, a plain, two-storeyed building,
built of stone quarried from the bog, and
roofed with slate, was almost buried in a
profusion of ivy and flowers; all the win-
dows and doors stood open, and around
them clustered roses and fuschias in full
bloom. Before the front door was a rather

28 My Connaught Cousins.

neglected - looking lawn, gazing beyond
which one beheld the blue of the open sea.
The front door stood wide open, and on the
threshold was spread a couple of bearskin
rugs, seated on which, amidst the wealth of
snow-white hair, was a little girl about five
or six years old. She sat cross-legged,
facing a number of dogs, which clustered
eagerly before her, — dogs of all sizes and
conditions, from one huge St Bernard down
to the veriest mite of a terrier that ever
worried at the life of a rat. It was the
laughter of this little witch which had
already reached me ; she was putting some
of the dogs through their tricks, and every
time they made a mistake she clapped her
hands and laughed aloud.

** Cousin number one ! " I commented
mentally, drawing back in the shelter of the
trees, and gazing with amused eyes upon
the child. I remembered, as I did so, the
blot and the cross which had disfigured my
.ueb-prized let^. and h.™g dSied Z

My Connaught Cousins. 29

little one's identity, I looked around for
cousin number two.

I had not far to look.

A few yards from the door stood a small
wicker table, strewn with powder, shot,
wads, cartridge cases, etc., and at this table
sat a young girl busily at work making
cartridges. Again I mentally referred to
my letter, and after having done so, I had
little difficulty in recognising my cousin
Bridget. She was certainly not so pretty
as little Amy, who, with her warm brown
skin, her sparkling black eyes and glossy
hair, would have made a model which
any painter might have been proud of.
Still Bridget was not at all bad looking,
and if she had been seen alone and not by
the side of her little witch of a sister, she
would have certainly demanded a second
glance. But she had disadvantages to con-
tend against, which had not yet come
Amy's way. She was at that age when
the figure has taken no definite form, when

30 My Connaught Cousins.

the axms and legs appear too long and
dresses can never be made to fit ; neverthe-
less, she had laughing blue eyes and a
pleasant face, which she had contrived to
disfigure by cropping oflf all her hair. Yes,
I instinctively felt that in Bridget I had
not discovered the beauty of the family,
but I had quite made up my mind that we
should be excellent friends.

Then I took another peep.

This time I was disappointed.

I was about to move forward, and
boldly proclaim my presence, when my
eye fell upon a sight which held me
captive.

Not very far from the table at which
Biddy was so busily engaged, was a ham-
mock swung up to the branches of two
saplings, and in the hammock, lying at full
length, with her head supported on her two
clasped hands, was another of my Con-
naught cousins.

About seventeen years of age, tall and

My Connaught Cousins. 31

thin, with a skin like alabaster, and hair of
rich warm gold. She was dressed in a
robe of white, which was daintily trimmed
with lace, and here and there a knot of
rose-coloured ribbon. Through the open
work of the sleeves and boddice, you could
see the warm tints of arms and neck. Her
golden hair fell loosely on her shoulders,
while her eyes gazed dreamily to the cloudy
sky above. At last I had certainly come
upon the beauty of the family, for no maiden,
however fair, could be more charming.

For a moment I stood gazing as if spell-
bound, then I resolutely walked forward,
and in one word made myself known.

Heavens ! what a change !

Amy leaped up from her rug. Biddy from
her table, and Oona — as I heard the others
call the beautiful dreamer — slipt quietly
from her hammock, and came forward smil-
ing with the rest !

There was a moment, just a moment of
confused silence, then a wild cry of —

32 My Connaught Cousins.

" Kate, Kate, do come out ! Here's
cousin Jack ! "

What happened after that I don't ex-
actly know, but I was conscious of the
presence of a somewhat buxom young
woman of twenty, who stood in the door-
way, addressed me as " Cousin Jack," and
offered me her hand to shake and her
cheek to kiss. Afterwards, using a cousin's
privilege, I proceeded to kiss a few more
cheeks, amongst which was the pretty pink
and white one belonging to Oona, who,
having recovered from her first start of
surprise at my presence, accepted my salute
with all the frankness of a child. To what
length my ardour would have gone I am
not prepared to say. I felt quite willing,
however to kiss them all round again, if
necessary, but my good intentions were
summarily interrupted by the arrival of
the car which I had deserted on the road,
and which now appeared with my luggage.

More confusion, more delighted laughter.

My Connaught Cousins. 33

and more words of welcome 1 At a sum-
mons from Kate there appeared upon the
scene a couple of neatly-dressed servant-
maids and a wild-looking Connaught boy ;
one and all chattered to the driver in their
unearthly tongue, while they possessed
themselves of my goods.

It must not be supposed that the girls
were idle. Kate, — calm, self-possessed Kate,
who had evidently been disturbed at her
housekeeping — superintended the removal
of my luggage, and gave her orders about
it in the Irish language. Biddy was carry-
ing in my fishing-rod, and a few loose
parcels which were on the car. Oona was
lifting down, with very tender hands, my
strap full of books, while Amy, after having
with a great deal of trouble silenced her
yelping canine fanuly, was staggering in
beneath the weight of my ulster.

It was certainly a new experience to me,
but by no means an unpleasant one. Had
I been more accustomed to female society,
VOL. I.

34 My Connaught Cousins.

and kept my wits about me, I should
never have allowed those pretty girls to
turn themselves into serving-maids on my
account; but the novelty of the situation
perfectly took away my breath and rendered
me powerless. So I stood and looked on,
feeling very much like a powerful Sultan,
attended by the ladies of his court.

At length the work was done. All my
packages, both great and small, had been
carried to my room ; the horses which had
brought me thither had been led away to
the stables, where they were to pass the
night; and I stood in the spacious hall
surrounded by the girls.

" So you are my Connaught cousins ? " I
said, looking at the cluster of up-turned
faces. " I must say, my dears, you are
excessively jolly girls ! But I understood
there were six of you ; where are the miss-
ing two ? "

"Nora and Aileen," said Kate, smiling,
"are out riding, and papa has driven over

My Connaught Cousins. 35

to the moor; but," she added, glancing at
the face of a very old-fashioned clock which
stood in the hall, " he'll be in to dinner in
less than half-an-hour, — and won't he be
astonished to find you here ! "

" WiU he ? "

" Why, of course he will ; do you suppose,
if you had written to say you were coming,
we should have allowed you to arrive like
this ? I had arranged to send the car over
to Ballyferry for you ; it would have stayed
there all night, and brought you back the
next day. Papa, Aileen, and Nora, were to
ride as far as Glenderig to have taken you
some lunch, which you could have eaten
there, and escorted you back. And to
think that, after all, you should take us by
surprise ! "

I explained to Kate that I Iwid written,
fixing not only the day, but the hour of
my arrival at Ballyshanrany. Kathleen
did not seem the least astonished, but she
looked rather more annoyed.

36 My CatmaMght Cousins.

'' It's that Midde the post ! " she said.
" Suie it's time the work was taken away
from him altc^ther, for he gets worse and
worse. He hasn't brought me a letter for
the last year that wasn't a month old at
least Last night he didn't deliver the
letters at alL Shawn saw him at old
Cormic s wake. Oh, cousin Jack, what
inhospitable people you must have thought
us to be sure !"

I laughingly dispelled her fears, and in
order to make things comfortable amongst
us, I volunteered to say " How do you
do?" all round again ; the girls responded
with heartiness to my offer of shaking
hands ; when I offered to repeat my oscula-
tory performance they laughingly drew back.

" Well ! " I exclaimed, " I must hold to
what I said just now. You are certainly
nice girls — ^nobody would attempt to deny
it — ^but you are not girls of your word.
Wouldn't you let your father kiss you ? "

" Of course we would."

My Connaught Cousins. 37

** And did you not promise in your letter
to treat me like papa ? "

" All ! yes," said Kate bluntly ; " but then
we hadn't seen you, and we thought you
were more like him."

" Indeed, and what made you think I
was like him ? "

"Well, you are a barrister, you know,
and we had decided amongst ourselves that
all barristers must be old-fashioned, whereas
you are quite young and — and — ^"

" And very handsome," added Amy
candidly. " Til kiss you, cousin Jack."

All the girls laughed, and said Amy's
conduct was shameless, while I lifted her
on to a chair and kissed her brown cheek
not once but half-a-dozen times, after which
she generously volunteered to conduct me
to my rooms.

CHAPTER III.

HE lodge, though by no means
palatial-looking from the outside,
must have been decidedly roomy
within, since Kate had been able to set
aside two very comfortable chambers for my
sole and special use. The first room which
I entered was a bedroom, furnished and
fitted in a manner to suit the taste of the
most fastidious of men. Everything was
bright, clean, pleasant, and significant of a
woman's careful hand. There were pretty
lace draperies at the window, and snow-
white hangings to the bed, freshly-plucked
flowers on the dressing-table, while around

My Connaught Cousins. 39

the open casement clustered full-blown roses
and fuchsias, the scent of which filled the
room. On putting my head out of the
window and looking down, I saw Oona's
hammock, containing now only a half-open
book, Biddy's table covered with half-made
cartridges, and one or two of Amy's dogs.
Looking straight forward, I beheld a bound-
less expanse of sea.

Having finished my survey of the bed-
chamber, I passed on into the tiny room
adjoining, which was evidently intended for
my private sitting-room or study. There
was no sign of the dressing-room about it,
and the efforts of the girls had evidently
been exerted to make it as great a contrast
as possible to the dimity whiteness of my
sleeping-chamber.

It was the smallest and cosiest of rooms.
A comfortable carpet covered the floor ; the
furniture was of plain oak, but there was a
sofa and easy-chair ; on the mantelpiece,
besides a brazen timepiece, was a jar full of

40 My Cannaugkt Cousins.

bird's-eye tobacco and a box of cigars ; and
on the table, which was covered with a
neat table-cloth, were a number of books.
I glanced at the books, which had doubtless
been selected for my special reading, and
found them to consist of a New Testament,
a guide-book to Connemara, Lord Byron's
Poems (expurgated family edition, with
Oona's name written on the fly-leaf), and
an Irish treatise on fly-fishing. Nor was
this all. Close to the window stood a pretty
mahogany writing-desk, where I found sta-
tionery, ink, pens, stamps, and even sheets
of folios for scribbling, and a bronze read-
ing lamp. There were more flowers here,
both in the room and clustering outside
the window, while the green trailing creepers
contrasted pleasantly with the warm red
curtains within.

" My lines have fallen in pleasant places,"
I said, casting a last look around. Then,
remembering Kate s words, " In half-an-hour
papa wiU be in to dinner," I deemed the

My Connaught Cousins. 41

best thing I could do would be to put my-
self in order for the family meal.

I re-entered my bedroom, laid out my
things, puUed off my coat, and unbuttoned
my collar, when my operations were sud-
denly stopped,— for the sounds which issued
from below announced the amval of the
missing members of the family.

I looked out.

First a couple of horses cantered up the
gravel walk, and paused before the hall-
door, then I heard the rattling of carriage-
wheels, after which a hearty voice ex-
claimed,—

" What ! you don't mean to say he's
arrived, Kate ! God bless my soul, where
is he?"

A minute afterwards I heard a good
sound rap at my door, and, on opening it,
I beheld my uncle.

One glance, and my heart went out to
him ; he was a man whom nobody could
dislike. He was adored by all his tenantry.

42 My Connaught Cousins.

and idolised by his girls. Now, for the
first time, I could understand why my
mother's petted sister had been induced to
marry a man just twice her age. I could
understand also the unajffected candour of
the girls. Kenmare was a gentleman from
head to foot, but there was no vestige in
him of self-consciousness or affectation. He
was over sixty years of age, tall, broad-
shouldered, and firmly built ; his hair and
beard were of a pure iron grey, and his face,
though bronzed and wrinkled, was hand-
some still. He was dressed in an old suit
of nondescript brown, and the brown leg-
gings, which reached to his knees, were
covered with bog-mire. He had removed
his billycock hat, and the perspiration stood
in beads upon his brow. But his face lit
up into a bright smile when he looked
at me.

"Well, my boy," he said, "sure I am
heartily glad to see you, and I hope, now
you }iave come, you mean to make a long

My Connaught Cousins. 43

stay. Will you join me in a glass of grog ?
or has Kate given you too much already ?"

I confessed that since my arrival I had
had nothing, and added hastily that I was
not in need of anything ; but my uncle was
not to be put ojff.

" Nonsense, my boy ! " he exclaimed,
" after a journey like that any man would
want a glass, so you'll just come down
with me. I always take half a glass when
I come in from shooting. It keeps out the
cold, and gives me an appetite for dinner.
You haven't got your coat on ? Never
mind-tliis is Liberty Hall 1"

So saying, and in spite of my remon-
strances, he took me downstairs and mar-
shalled me into a room* where two young
ladies were sitting, clad in riding-habits,
with their round felt riding-hats pushed
back on their heads. My uncle introduced
the young ladies as " Alley" and " Nora,"
and disposed of me as their " Cousin Jack."
The girls looked up, stared, and laughed,

44 ^fy Connaught Cousins.

then they rose, shook hands with me, and
made off to dress for dinner. Kenmare
turned to the waiting-maid, who was bring-
ing in the cold water for his grog.

"A glass for my nephew, Mary, my
dear," he said, "and when you're back in
the kitchen tell that spalpeen Shawn to
wake himself up a bit, for there's a
new master for him at the lodge. Sure
he's a lazy loon, but he knows his way
about, and I mean him to look after Mr
Stedmanl"

Then his eye fell upon Kate, who was
passing on her way to the dining-room, and
he exclaimed, —

" Oh, Kate, Kate, where is all your Irish
hospitality ? "

" Sure, papa," returned Kate, blushing
and laughing, **it is not my fault. He
arrived so suddenly ; he took us all so
much by surprise, that I completely forgot
he might be thirsty ! "

Having disposed of my grog, I was al-

My Connaught Cousins. 45

lowed to go to my room again, receiving
this time special orders to dress quickly, for
the dinner would not be long.

My first care was to stand before the
glass and examine myself critically. As I
fid so. I called up the imaginary picture
which the girls haS drawn ol mTand un-
derstood the startled look of surprise which
had come into their eyes, as they had rested
the first time upon me.

" Middle-aged, and old-fashioned ! " I
was certainly neither. I was tall and slim,
aad despite I, thirty yea. my worst e,emy
could not have accused me of looking
more than twenty-five. Perhaps this last
fact was owing to the lack of hair on my
face, for beyond a slight moustache which
shaded my upper lip, I had none.

Having examined myself, and feeling
rather pleased with the result, I turned
from the glass and hurried on with my
operations for dressing. I had brought a
few suits with me, but they had been select-

46 My Connaught Cousins.

ed more with a view to sport than ladies'
society. True, I had been perfectly aware
that I was about to be introduced into the
society of half-a-dozen girls, but I had not
thought the whole of them worth the car-
riage of a suit of dress clothes. As I
acknowledged this, and remembered how
well a suit of dress clothes became me, I
continued my dressing in anything but a
contented frame of mind.

I had finished, and was about to take
another survey of myself in the glass, when
a gong sounded loudly. I hastily descended
the stairs, crossed the hall, and entered the
dining-room.

I was the last to arrive.

There was my uncle, habited now in a
suit of dark tweed, with spotless linen,
which showed off to perfection his bronzed
cheeks and iron-grey hair ; and there were
the girls, all six of them, looking as fresh
as new-blown roses, all nicely dressed in
delicate whites and creams and pinks, and

My Connaught Cousins. 47

presenting as pretty a picture as one could
hope to see on a summer's day.

The only bit of shade was introduced by
Kate, and she, being the oldest, and, as it
were, the matron of the family, had thought
it consistent with her matronly dignity to
wear shades of a sombre hue. She was
dressed that night in a costume of soft
black lace, with slashings of amber, and
she carried a couple of pale yellow roses at
her throat and in her black hair.

The dinner passed off merrily. We were
waited upon by the couple of neat Irish
colleens who had carried in my luggage.
Both the food and the drink were good.
My uncle kept us amused with some good
stories ; and the girls had learnt the diffi-
cult lesson of not to expect a lot of foolish
attentions from a man when he's tired
and hungry. They talked to their father
and to each other ; but for the time being
they were generous enough to let me
alone.

48 My Connaught Cousins.

During the dinner I felt gratefol enough
for their consideration ; but after the inner
man was refreshed, and when all the girls
had retired to the drawing-room, it was
another matter. Then I began to long
for their society ; so, presently seeing that
my uncle was growing sleepy over his
grog, I proposed that we should "join the
ladies." Nothing loath he rose, and we
repaired to the drawing-room together.

All the girls were there, and most of
them were occupied ; but the one who
attracted the most of my attention was
Amy. She sat on the hearth, just as I
had seen her sitting on the door-step,
surrounded and almost smothered by that
strange collection of dogs. The tiniest
mite of the collection, a shaggy little ter-
rier, was curled up in her lap; while the
sole desire of the others seemed to be to
touch some part of her pretty little body.
They rested their heads on her shoulder,
they poked their cold noses into her little

My Connaught Cousins. 49

hands, they sniffed about her hair, they
leisurely licked her brown cheek.

I took my seat with the party, and by
^nt of a few well-applied questions, managed
to make myself tolerably well acquainted
with one and all.

Thus I learned that Kate was not only
the good fairy at home, but in the village ;
that she helped the needy and cured the
sick, taking very often the place of the
doctor, who had a strong liking for whisky,
and consequently was not always equal to
the demands made upon him. But what
did the villagers care ? They knew that at
the lodge there was a medicine chest as
good or better than any in the doctor^s
Aurgery; that at any hour, both day and
night, Kate was ready to answer the call of
the sick ; that for the performance of opera-
tions which were well within her knowledge,
her hand was as sure as the doctor's ; and
most important of all, that she always

VOL. I. D

50 My Connaught Cousins.

carried a basket well filled with daintier
for the patient to eat. Consequently Kate's
hands were always pretty full. Some-
times the sick were brought to the
lodge and treated in the room known
as " Kate's Surgery, " but when they
were too ill to be removed she went ta
them.

Aileen and Nora had a passion for ridings
and spent a good deal of their time on the
backs of a couple of country hacks which
their father had given them. In this way
they managed to render some valuable
assistance to Kate. In the course of a
morning's ride they could visit half- a-
dozen patients and report progress; they
had also a couple of capacious saddle-bags
which Kate could fill. Besides this^
Aileen was fond of a good day's fishing,
and there wasn't a boy in Connaught could
beat her at tying a fly.

As for Oona, I foimd at once she was a
dreamer, and Uved in a world of her own.

My Connaught Cousins. 51

She was fond of roaming about the village
alone, of visiting spots made interesting in
her eyes by their connection with legends
and fairy tales. After having listened
with breathless interest to the tales told by
the old cauliaghs of the village, she would
return to her home to lie in her hammock,
and dream. She had also a tiny study at
the top of the house, I was told, where she
sometimes sat to write out the poems and
romances, which she hoped some day to be
able to give to the world. When quite a
little child, and up to the age of fourteen,
she had been a zealous contributor to lAttle
Follzi Magazine, and for certain stories
published therein she had received a couple
of silver medals and a beautifully bound
volume of jEsop's Fahles. I was promised
a sight of these treasures, then hidden in
the study.

Biddy and Amy, the youngest of this
girl-garland, were supposed not to have
formed any particular tastes at all. Biddy s

52 My Connaught Cousins.

chief occupation seemed to be to look after
her father's fishing tackle and cartridges,
while Amy they thought might turn out to
be a clever musician, since at the early age
of six she had actually composed an Irish
jig. When I expressed my amazement
that the child should surround herself by
all the dogs that chose to hang about the
establishment, I was informed that the
creatures were Amy's special pride, and that
the whole family belonged solely to her,
since they had been given to her by friends
on her birthdays.

" They discovered somehow that she
had a liking for pets," said Kate, "and
so as every birthday came round, two or
three were sure to arrive. Papa is answer-
able for it; it was he who first developed
her liking for dogs. He gave her Nero
when she was only a year old, and he
has watched over her ever since. Amy,
you ought to introduce Nero to cousin
Jack."

My Connaught Cousins. 53

*^ Where is he ? " said Amy, looking
round ; and she called his name.

At first the call produced no result.
The little terriers of the family frisked
about and wagged their tails, and the white
Gordon setter turned his eye sleepily upon
Amy and yawned. Upon the call being
twice repeated, however, the drawing-room
door opened, and there stalked majestically
in a handsome, black, curly-coated retriever.
He looked neither to the right nor the left,
but walked quietly forward to where his
little mistress sat, paused before her, and
gazed inquiringly into her face. She took
his head between her hands, and bestowed
two or three fond kisses upon his coal-black
nose. He sneezed violently, shook his head,
looked very much disgusted, but made no
attempt to move. Amy laughed delightedly.

" He hates being kissed," she cried ; " he
can't bear me to love him. Oh, you dear,
disagreeable old Nero, go and say * How do
you do ? ' to cousin Jack ! "

54 My Connaught Cousins.

He turned his eye towards me; after a
moment's hesitation he walked quietly over
to where I sat, looked at me critically for a
moment, then graciously lifted his paw.

" Shake hands ! " screamed Amy enthusi-
astically. " Sure you must shake hands
at once, for it's a sign he likes you* Papa,
papa, just look at Nero giving a welcome
to cousin Jack ! "

" He's a nice dog, isn't he ? " said Kate,
when the ceremony of shaking hands was
over ; " and he is a good dog too. He once
saved Amy's life ! "

" Indeed ! "

"Yes; about two years ago the nurse,
unknown to me, took Amy and Nero with
her and went out for a sail on the sea. A
squall capsized the boat not far from land ;
both the nurse and the boy who was sailing
the boat were drowned, but old Nero swam
to shore with Amy in his mouth."

" By Jove ! " I cried ; " he's a fine
feUow ! "

My Connaught Cousins. 55

" And, will you believe it, ever since that
day he has never allowed her to go out
without him. If she attempted to shut him
up he'd tear the house down. One day he
was shut in Oona's room for safety. Amy
had gone with some of the girls to a wedding
in Father John's chapel on the other side of
the Ferry. In the middle of the ceremony
the company were startled by the sudden
appearance of Nero, - dripping from his
swim across the estuary, and with a cut and
bleeding nose. He had broken the glass
and leapt out of the window, and tracked
her there ! "

I turned to Nero, who still stood looking
critically at me. He answered my look by
leisurely wagging his tail. I patted his
head approvingly, and I certainly felt glad
that he should have deemed it worth his
while to give me a special welcome to
Ballyshanrany.

CHAPTBE IT.

cov foor vteeks since I
« Stoipoitt and al-
raaniT the oM life in London
seems like a K£f-for^xten dieam. Jack
Btiefless is tiansfvsnied into Jack Viator.
I am a foU-hlosacHned q[N»tsman, fishennan,
boatsmaa; in hct^ m icgular Gonnaught
man. I can drink whisky neat, and I
kave learned to loTe the taste of potheen.
I know almost eveiy man, woman, and
chOd in the place. I have gone sal-
mon-fishing with the deigyman, and cours-
ing with the priest. Over and above all

My Connaught Cousins. 57

this, is my Sultan-like position in the
house. The girls adore me, and I adore
the girls.

As to my uncle, he is the prince of good
fellows. His horses, his dogs, his carriages,
his daughters, and his servants are all at
my disposal. But no one bothers me. I
come and go just as I please. Every day
I can make my own programme. If I want
to go shooting, dogs and guns are ready.
If I prefer to stay at home loafing, the
girls have a thousand devices to amuse me.
It is a lazy life and a merry; my only
fear is that it will utterly spoil me for
civilisation.

The good fairies of the lodge have
given me an attendant Gnome, who is at
my beck and call whenever I choose to
rub the magic ring if I fancy, and sum-
mon him to wait upon me.

His name is Shawn na Chauliagh, or
John of the Ferry, so called because he is
one of the large family reared by the

58 My Connaught Cousins.

ferryman who plays Charon between Stor-
port and the neighbouring islands. He
stands six feet high in his brogues, has
hair of wondrous redness, aad a fa.e
stained mahogany-brown with wind and
weather ; is twenty-five years old ; can tie
a fly and cast a line ; can walk from the
lodge door to the highest mountain with-
out pausing for breath ; knows every cor-
ner of the moors and every pool of the
waters, and is a prime favourite with
both the gentry and the tenantry. The
district is proclaimed, and is entirely
given over to the landlord shooters;
but wherever I go I know I am safe
with Shawn.

Two or three mornings after my arrival,
my attendant spirit made his first appear-
ance.

I was standing at the lodge-door with
my uncle, preparatory to mounting the
car and being driven over to the Owen-
nuff (ten miles off) for a day's fishing,

My Connaught Cousins, 59

when there appeared before us a tall,
powerful figure with a fiahing-basket on
his back, a staff in his hand, thick
brogues, tattered trousers rolled up to the
knee, showing a bare pair of herculean
legs.

" Shawn, ye rogue," said my uncle, " are
you ready ? "
/ " I am, yer honor," replied the giant.

" Have you the lunch in your basket,
.and the whisky ? "

" Yes, your honor."

" This is my nephew, Mr Jack. So long
as he remains here he's your master, re-
member ; — ^you'll take good care of him and
jshow him the best sport in the country.
Do you mind, now ? "

Shawn smiled and nodded, and then,
in Connaught fashion, held out his hand,
which I took and pressed. At that mo-
ment the car came round. I jumped up
by the driver in front, Shawn mounted
behind, and away we drove, while my uncle

6o My Connaughi Cousins.

cried "good luck" to us, and waved his
hat from the house-door.

Shawn was very reticent that day. I fell
a little in his estimation when, by terrible
bungling, I lost my first Salmon. But he
soon made up his mind that I, although
nominally his master, was a sort of a helpless
lunatic, to whom he was to act as a tempo-
rary keeper and protector. When I hesitated
about crossing from one part of the river to
another, he quietly took me on his back,
and strode across with me. wading waist
deep. He showed me how to throw a fly
properly, and when my arms grew tired,
which they did very quickly, he took
the rod and fished the waters leisurely
himself.

His opinion of me sank for a moment
when he saw me dilute my whisky with
water, but it rose again rapidly when he
found that I drank very little of the spirit,
and gave him as his portion more than two-
thirds of my uncle's large flask.

My Connaught Cousins. 6i

From that day forward we became firm
Mends and allies.

Some of Shawn's sayings and doings are
memorable for their oddity. The other day,
as we were trudging over the moor in search
of the snipe, which were just beginning to
arrive, driven hither by the first white frost,
we saw, quietly contemplating us from an
adjacent knoll, the head of a donkey.

The sight encouraged me to a foolish joke.

" Look there, Shawn ! " I exclaimed,
" isn't that the Diaoul f "

The Diaoul is Connaught for the name of
his Satanic Majesty. Shawn did not smile ;
indeed, his countenance seldom or never
relaxed fi:om its friendly solemnity, but
with the quiet yet respectful air of superior
knowledge peculiar to hiin, he proceeded to
correct me.

" Indeed then, your honor," he replied,
'*itisno«/"

Then, meeting my look of inquiry, he
calmly continued, —

62 My Connaught Cotisins.

"Sure there are two things the Diaotd
can never put hisself into. It's aisy enough
for the Diaoul to put hisself into a sheep,
or a dog, or a bull, or a sealgh, or a crane,
or a wild goose, your honor; but sorra a
man living ever saw him like a donkey, or
like a pig ! "

We walked slowly on ; after a few minutes
Shawn observed thoughtfully, —

'* They're saying, your honor, that pigs
can see the wind ! "

" Indeed ! " I exclaimed.

" And that it's of a r^d colour ! "

" Is that so, Shawn ? " I exclaimed, laugh-
ing ; " then, if only pigs are gifted enough
to perceive it, one of them must have been
your authority."

Shawn didn't seem to understand me,
but strode on in a dark reverie, surprised
that I should treat so solemn a subject with
anything like levity.

It would be in vain to deny the fact that
Shawn's weakness is a love for distilled

My Connaught Cousins. 63

spirits, and I am a&aid that my companion-
ship has not helped to reform him. This
reminds me that my cousin Kathleen, who
is a zealous abstainer, and does a good
deal of teetotal work in the village, has
been trying for a long time to get Shawn
to sign the pledge ;-just before my arrival
she almost succeeded.

After having disappeared for two or three
days, and returned with all the signs upon
him of a heavy carouse, Shawn appeared,
penitent and crestfallen, at the lodge. He
was no longer refractory ; he was quite ready
to sign the pledge. Delighted at this con-
version, Kate led him into the little parlour
which she used as housekeeper's room, pro-
duced pen and ink, and the usual teetotal
card for Shawn*s signature.

'*'rm so glad, Shawn," she said, "that
you mean to reform. Drinking is so wicked,
so very wicked ! "

" Indeed, then, Miss Kathleen, it is ! "
" And when you've made up your mind

64 My Connaught Cousins.

to give it up altogether, you'll be so much
happier in your mind ! "

" Indeed, then, Miss Kathleen, that's
true \ "

" Put your mark there, where I have put
your name, — John O'Donnell ! "

Shawn hesitated a moment, scratching his
head, then took the pen, and with infinite
trouble, holding his head sideways, and
lolling out his tongue like a school-boy,
contrived to make his mark; the mark
made, he] looked at it proudly, then turning
to his young mistress with a smile which
wafi a strange compound of shyness, sim-
plicity, and self-satisfaction, he exclaimed,-

"And now, Miss Kathleen, you'll shust
fetch out the bottle, wrid give me one glass ! "

Even after that exhibition of Shawn's
complicated perception of the nature of an
oath, my cousin did not let him escape her.
She lectured him soundly, and at last con-
vinced him that he stood pledged not to
touch a drop of anything, unless (here, alas !

My Connaught Cousins. 65

Kate added a fatal corollary) lie was dan-
gerously ill, and absolutely needed the spirit
as a medicine.

The next day Shawn was taken alarmingly
bad " with the colic," and messengers came
flying up to the lodge to beg a " little drop
of whisky, for the love of God." My uncle,
who was at home alone, sent down the
physic. From that day forth, until Kath-
Ln indignantly released him from his
promise, Shawn's health was a subject of
considerable alarm to his relatives, his in-
ternal attacks occurring with strange fre-
quency, and yielding to no medicine but
one.

So much for Shawn s addiction to the
bottle. While admitting his infirmity, I
must do him the justice to say that I have
never seen him drunk, or stupidly intoxi-
cated ; it would take a large quantity,
indeed, to affect his seasoned carcase !

And let me admit, moreover, that he is
no worse than his betters. Everybody loves

VOL. I. E

66 My Connaught Cousins,

whisky in this district. My own uncle
can take his glass freely. His neighbours
and his servants are free drinkers. The
priest. Father John Murphy, would have
been a bishop long ago (I have it on his
own authority) but for the bottle, and his
curate, Father Tim Doolan, has twice been
suspended. The doctor, an M.D. of Dublin,
is seldom or never sober.

This reminds me that shortly after my
arrival I heard great accounts of the priest*s
conversational powers and the doctor's jovi-
ality. "They were characters," my uncle
said, "to be studied and enjoyed," and he
told me a dozen merry stories concerning
them.

They called one morning together, and
sadly disappointed me, for neither had a
word to say for himself. Father John, a
powerfully-built man of five-and-forty, with
a coal-black coat and a rubicund complexion,
was the picture of melancholy. Doctor
Maguire, a little, round man, with bristling

My Connaught Cousins. 67

black hair, dressed in a rough tweed suit,
and carrying a heavy walking-stick, looked
fit for a funeral.

No sooner were they seated in the
parlour than my uncle brought out the
bottle and glasses.

" Not for me, Mr Kenmare," said Maguire
gloomily ; " Tm not tasting." And he
explained that he had taken the pledge
for a month.

My uncle turned to Father John, who
put up his hand and shook his head.

" Nor myself neither ! " he exclaimed.
" It's the bishop has made me promise not
to take a glass till next confirmation."

My uncle did not press them, but put
the materials down upon the table mid-
way between them. Then I, to whom
they had just been introduced, tried to
draw them into conversation. Impossible.
They sat like martyred men, lugubrious,
monosyllabic. Where were their jovial
ways, their jests, their wreathed smiles ?

68 My Cannaught Cousins.

Gk)ne ; and as for the country, the weather,
the people, they hadn't a good word to say
of any of them. It was a miserable world.

Presently my imcle was called out of
the room by one of the girls. Slightly
embarrassed by my strange company, I
walked over to the window and looked
out. Then I heard the following conver-
sation carried on by the two worthies,
whom, slightly turning, I watched out of
the comer of my eye : —

" Father John, sir, you re looking mighty
pale 1 "

"No paler than yourself, doctor; Fm
grieved to see you looking so bad."

A pause. Each fidgeted, and cast a sly
glance at the bottle.

"Is it the green sickness that's on ye,
doctor ? Holy saints, take care of your
health ! "

" It's a bad cold I have got, Father John.
But look after yourself, for Fm in dread
the fever is coming on ye ! '*

My Connaught Cousins. 69

" What's good for that, doctor ? "

"A glass of Jamieson, or maybe two
glasses."

"And for your own green sickness,
doctor? Fm asking ye as ye're a medical
man ! "

"There's no cure but one, and sure I
have taken the pledge, and can't taste."

Another pause. The men looked sadly
at one another, and then at the bottle.

"Father John," said Maguire suddenly,
"as your medical adviser, sir, I insist oh
your taking a glass of Jamieson!"

"Dr Maguire," cried the other, "I'll
not have your death on me conscience !
Take a drop of the creature to cure your
sickness, and, by all the saints, I'll absolve
you ! "

Almost simultaneously their hands were
stretched out towards the bottle. The
priest's hand seized it first, and poured
out two brimming measures. Each clutched
a glass, and lifted it to his thirsty lips.

70 My Connaught Cousins.

At that moment my uncle re-entered the
room, and roared with laughter at the
picture. Both men joined in the merri-
ment. Almost instantaneously they were
transformed. Jest, story, and song flowed
from their magically -loosened lips. Before
they left the room, Father John had sung
" The Vale of Avoca " in the richest Irish ;
and Dr Maguire had given his famous
description of how the piper of Achill was
anointed, waked, and half buried when
he was lying unconscious, not dead, but
dead drunk^ after Andy O'Shaughnessy s
wedding !

Such are two of the leading worthies of
the place. There are others to whom I
shall endeavour to introduce my reader in
due course ; but these two are paramount.
Both, I may observe in passing, have strong
popular sympathies. Father John, at his
second bottle, is easily persuaded to de-
nounce the Saxon — in other words, he stands
erect, and with many sawings of his right

My Connaught Cousins. 71

arm, thunders out a bloodthirsty poem con-
tributed some years ago to the Nation.
Maguire, at the same stage, sings, "Eory
of the Hills," and other Fenian ditties, with
tremendous unction. Both mean no harm ;
neither would hurt a fly, I am sure of that.
They do these things in what may be called,
referring to a certain famous discussion, a
** Pickwickian spirit," — it is a part of their
profession, a phase of their local humour.

It is very curious to me to dwell in a
district so disaffected, and to see eyery-
thing so tranquil and so pleasant.

When I came over I brought a revolver
with me, thinking I carried my life in my
hand, but my uncle and the girls laughed
outright at my fears. Yet not a mile from
their door this summer, Mr Freeland, a
Scotch farmer, was shot down dead in cold
blood close to the church-door ; and in the
thick of the fair at Westport I had pointed
out to me the actual murderer of Lord
Antrim. Nay, am I not on the most inti-

72 My Connaught Cousins,

mate terms with ConoUy Magrath, who has
the worst reputation in the whole place.

Conolly is a little, mild-spoken man, with
pale blue eyes, a watery mouth, and the
most amiable of tempers. To look at him,
you would take him for a lamb in human
form. He attends to my uncle's horses,
and accompanies us sometimes on boating
excursions, adores the "young mistresses,"
as he calls them, and worships my uncle,
who has more than once got him out of
serious trouble.

"They tell me, Conolly," I said to him
one morning, " that you know who shot Mr
Freeland ? "

Conolly, who was busily rubbing up some
old harness, smiled, a smUe that was child-
like and bland.

" Is it me, your honor ? Now, who would
be after telling you that same ?"

" Never mind who told me ; but come
now, you do know something about it ; don't
you r

My Connaught Cousins. 73

" Sorra haporth, yer honor ! " he replied,
still smiling.

"Well, now, didn't you threaten Mr
O'Niel of the Castle, your own land-
lord r

" I did not^ then !" was the reply ; he
added naively, " I only told him the truth.
I said that if he asked for the rent this year,
maybe the boys would be firing a shot or
two .t him, Jfua to tiemselv* ! »

I looked at him with grave indignation.

" It's a shocking state of things ! " I
cried ; " a disgrace to Ireland. Scarcely a
day passes but some new outrage is re-
ported ! "

"I'm in dread, your honor," returned
ConoUy, " that it'll never stop till the boys
get hold of the land their own selves ! "

" And pay no rent ? ridiculous ! "

"Sure, how can the poor creatures pay
rent, when they've sorra penny in the
world ? "

I fixed my eyes upon him.

74 My Connaught Cousins.

''Don't you think God would punish
you," I said, *' if you took away a precious
human life ? "

ConoUy was not smiling now; his pale
face had turned a trifle whiter, and there
was a curious working about his lips.

" I'd never do that same, your honor ! "

*' Tm glad to hear you say so. YovHd
never commit murder, I am sure ! "

" Is it me, your honor ? But I put it
to your own self, what harm would there
be for a poor boy to WX a tyrant ? "

" Why, that is murder ! " I exclaimed.

" Is it, then, your honor ? " he replied,
smilingly. " Sure, then, they don't call thxit
murder down here in Connaught."

To this day I can't quite make out
whether ConoUy is a rogue or simpleton.
I am less decided in my opinion concerning
his blood relation and great factotum, Mrs
Jack Timlin, who kept the village inn.

" Sure there's only one man in my
parish," said Father John one day, *'and

My Connaught Cousins. 75

he's a woman," referring to this same Mrs
Timlin. This extraordinary person, the
widow of the late lamented Jack Timlin,
who got wounded in the head in the West-
port riots, has more influence in the district
than any other individual, rich or poor. She
is said to be the head of the Eibbon con-
spiracy hereabouts, and it is asserted that
every dark crime which has been perpetrated
in the neighbourhood, had been sealed and
covenanted in her little parlour.

Physically, she is a tall, lean woman, with
a sickly complexion, induced partly by her
habit of smoking strong tobacco. She has
large, bold eyes, an impudent expression,
and a determined jaw. She dresses very
shabbily, much like the poor people here-
abouts, but wears in addition to the usual
short gown and petticoat, a large widow's
cap cocked somewhat rakishly on the top
of her unkept black hair. She is said to be
rich — at all events she lends money at high
interest to the country people, and woe to

76 My Connaught Cousins,

the man or woman, however poor, who fails
to keep faith with Aer in the repayment of
instehnents.

Mrs Jaxjk Timlin, though a furious Land
Leaguer, would seU up and demolish Mr
Pamell himself if he owed her a penny. .

She is at once the terror and admiration
of the district. On principle she had
seldom or never paid any rent, and the
landlord never thought of turning her out
of her hostelry till some months ago, when,
indignant and desperate, he gave her warn-
ing to quit. Being of a careful turn of
mind, she at once insured the place, with all
its furniture and stock, for a heavy sum. A
few weeks after the insurance was effected
the place was burned to the ground. It
appeared on inquiry that a stupid caretaker,
whom the widow had left in charge of the
place while she visited some friends in West-
port, had one night gone to bed in his
clothes with a Hghted pipe in his mouth,
and awakening found the room in flames.

My Connaught Cousins. yy

He had then rushed out, and sat down
quietly on the opposite side of the road,
where the poKce had found him at daybreak,
contemplating the blackened walls. Ques-
tioned by the constable as to why he had
failed to give the alarm, he had protested
he hadn't dared, for the life of him, to leave
the spot, — the widow Timlin having sworn
him solemnly, before she left, to ''keep his
eye upon the. house/' which he had done
accordingly, to his own perfect satisfaction^
and it is recorded that of the widow.

These are some of the worthies of the
village; as for the village itself, and its
situation, I find I have said little or
nothing about them. Words are of little
use to call up natural scenery ; so a few
rough lines of description must serve for
a picture of what could only be properly
reproduced by pencil or brush.

The small cluster of huts which bears the
dignified title of **The Village," stands
upon a grassy hillock, about two hundred

78 My Connaught Cousins.

yards from the sea-shore. A magnificent
range of hills runs for miles inland and
almost entirely surrounds it. In the far
distance stretching out into the sea, and
partly cutting off the sweep of the open
ocean, is Erris Head.

A sandy bar, formed by the incessant
washing of the sea upon the soft sand,
stretches from the cliffs on either side, and
forms a sort of breakwater, keeping the
little bay within in a state of comparative
calm ; and so effectual is it, that even in the
roughest winter weather, when outside the
rollers and breakers are raging wildly, and
the spray is dashing about the rocks and over
the summits of the cliffs, the bay within
is comparatively still, and one may use a
small boat with perfect safety. It is im-
possible, however, to cross the bar until the
waves have entirely subsided and sunk
into a partial calm.

There are two estuaries, one on either
side of the village, which extend for miles

My Connaught Cousins, 79

inland, winding and turning among the
kills. At high tide they swell into magnifi-
cent fjords or arms of the sea, but at low
water they sink into insignificant stretches
of mud and rivulet, and sometimes, espe-
cially during the low spring tides, it is pos-
sible to walk across the strand dry shod.

Shawn's father is the ferryman — that is to
to say, he is the ferryman so called, but his
duties are done by all the members of his
numerous family, including any number
of shock-headed gorsoons and black-eyed
colleens, of all sizes and ages, and in all sorts
of costumes.

The ferryboat is an enormous structure,
generally out of repair. When any one
wants to come or go across, there is no
hurry. I have seen the priest myself gesti-
culating for a whole hour on the opposite
side of the estuar}% without making the
slightest impression on the ferry family,
who were tranquilly digging in the potato
fields close by.-

8o My Connaugkt Cousins.

The ferry is, of course, a shebeen, and
potheen flows there like water. Sometimes
the whole family get drunk together, and
go to bed for the day.

One of Shawn's brothers, " a little shmall
boy" of twenty, big as a grenadier, caxries
the letters. He generally takes his own
time about delivering them, and they have
been known to arrive in an advanced stage
of decomposition. If anything were needed
to prove that we are quite outside the pale
of civilisation here in Connaught, it would
be the charmingly informal method of the
postal delivery.

1

CHAPTER V.

ACK, my boy," said my uncle
one evening, " be ready at ten
to-morrow for a sail up to
Glenamoy. Charlie Bingley and Achill
Murray are coming over from the castle,
and we mean to have a pleasant day, please
God."

So it was settled; and while we were
seated next morning at breakfast, young
Bingley, m the kill -d Murray/in I
knickerbocker suit, looked in — the former
a lanky hobbledehoy, much given to dark
musings on the reluctant growth of his
own whiskers ; the latter a square-set, jolly

VOL. I. J

82 My Connatigkt Cousins,

fellow of five -and -thirty, and despite his
Scotch extraction, one of the most popular
men in the district. Mrs Bingley of the
castle possessed large salmon fisheries,
Murray was her overseer, and Charlie her
hopeful son and heir.

Breakfast over we strolled out to the
"Yawl," which we found waiting for us,
manned by four sturdy rowers — Shawn, two
of his big brothers, and ConoUy Magrath.
Rugs were spread in the stern, and others
in the bow, to sit or lie on, and there were
cheerful glimpses of bottles and capacious
luncheon baskets.

My uncle carried his rifle ; I had my
new Holland choke bore, and Bingley was
content with a muzzle-loader, an old Joe
Manton.

Three of the girls, Kathleen, Aileen, and
Oona were of the party, and all were in
the best of spirits. I had almost forgotten
to mention Nero, Amy's retriever, which she
lent to us for the day.

My Connaugkt Cousins. 83

We set out early in the forenoon — ^and
such a forenoon ! The sky was bright as
gold; the heathery mountains rose purple
clear on either side, with every mossy boul-
der, each snowy torrent imaged clearly
in the crystal water. ** Not a feature of the
hiUs was in the mirror slighted." To our
right, as we rowed up the broad fjord, rose
the hills of Ennis — green slopes undulating
to peaks of rock and crests of heather;
to our left stretched the lower range of
the islands of Moira, on which the sea-
clouds rest in stormy weather, but which
were now dark and rugged in the blinding
sunlight. Before us, on the fjord itself,
rose bright green isles and emerald promon-
tories, with nothing living, save an occa-
sional flight of wild duck, to disturb the
tranquil scene.

My uncle sat in the stern, helm in hand.
On his right sat Aileen and Murray ; on his
left Kathleen, Oona, and myself. Young
Bingley had taken his position in the bow

84 J^y OmnoMght Cousins.

keenly expectant of a shot at something
flying.

Presently we left the village £ur behind,
and came among the innmnerable small
islands which dot the i^oid. On every pro-
montoiy sat a heron, patiently watdiing the
water, and rising leisurely out of gunshot
as we approached.

"Look out, Charlie," cried Murray sud-
denly. " There's a duck ! ''

And, indeed, one of the canard species
was approaching at lightning speed, high
up in the air. Without turning in his
flight he passed right over us.

Bang ! bang ! went Charlie's gun. Bang !
bang ! went off mine.

"Sure, she's fer out of range," said my
uncle quietly, which was certainly the
case.

"We'll land on Mackinroy," continued
my uncle. " A pack of grouse breeds there
every year, and the dog will be sure to
put them up."

My Connaugkt Cousins. 85

The island to which he alluded was right
before us— a low-lying, damp piece of land,
with some clumps of rugged heather. We
ran the boat into a creek. Young Bingley
jumped out, and I followed with the dog.

" Won't you come, Achill ? " said Charlie
to his £dend.

"No; 111 stay here with the girls,"
answered Murray, laughingly.

We climbed the shore, and came out upon
as wet and ugly a flat as could be found
even in Ireland. We soon discovered that
Murray was wise in not accompanying us,
for the very first step we took inland, we
found ourselves wading knee deep, and
Nero, who raced on a little in advance of
us, splashed up the water aa he ran. It
certainly did not seem a likely place for
grouse, but there were one or two dry
knolls of heather where a bird or two might
be discovered.

Suddenly, just as I floundered into a bog-
hole, a big hare got up at my very feet ; I

86 My Cannaught Catkins.

waa too flurried to fire, and Bingley rolled
him over.

" Well fired, your honor ! " cried a voice
behind ns, and Conolly, running up, appro-
priated puflsy.

Wheet, wheet ! up got a snipe, and went
away zigzag before us ; we both fired, and
missed.

"Never mind," cried Conolly "you've
given him a fright, anyway 1 "

Presently the dog, who had been scamper-
ing somewhat aimlessly, began to "draw"
in a straight line forward. We followed
him as fast as the wet ground would permit
us, and soon saw, running swiftly before
us, a number of brown birds with their
wings trailing and their heads low down.
But the retriever rushed in wildly, and
up got, out of range, six grouse, headed
by the old cock.

They did not fly far, however, and we
marked them as they alighted among deep
heather five hundred yards away. Conolly

My Connaugkt Cousins. 87

held up the dog, and we walked to the
spot. The birds lay like stones. We
walked all over the place, and were just
going to loosen the dog, when the old
cock rose, and fell immediately to my
gun. Then three of the pack got up
together, and we secured a brace ; and
finally, with the aid of Nero, we accounted
for two more.

We walked leisurely on, and for some
time discovered nothing more, save several
snipe, which got up out of range. Sud-
denly Conolly, who was walking some dis-
tance to our right, crouched down, and
began running towards us at full speed.

"What is it?" I cried, as he came up
panting.

He explained rapidly that, peeping over
at the adjoining shore, he had caught a
glimpse of a number of ducks swimming
close to the water's edge. By walking
over at a point indicated by his finger,
we were certain to get a shot.

88 My Connaught Cousins.

Away we went, stumbling and splashing.
We reached a dark knoll overlooking
the shore, and surmounted it, ready to
fire, but we saw nothing; and while we
were gazing down vacantly — whirr ! whirr !
quack ! quack 1 up got a dozen mallard
from right under us. We fired all four
barrels, and dropped two birds on the very
edge of the sea ; while another, aftej flying
some distance, fell like a stone into the
water, and floated dead.

" After him, honey 1 " cried ConoUy ; and
away went Nero, beating the crystal tide. He
soon returned with the bird in his mouth.

Flushed and victorious, we now went
back to the yawl. After all, we had the
laugh at Murray, who had missed some
capital sport, but he was very busy with
Aileen, and didn't seem to care.

To reward our prowess, my uncle served
out glasses all round, and then we rowed
away agairf upon the water.

There is nothing like whisky to warm

My Connaugkt Cousins, 89

a boatman's heart, and soon the rowers
were chattering together in Irish. My
uncle pricked up his ears, for he spoke the
lingo like a native.

"What's that about, Mr O'Neil?" he
asked sharply, addressing Conolly.

Conolly smiled his childlike Chineeish
smile.

'* Nothing, your honor," he replied ;
"only the poor creature has got protec-
tion. He's six peelers to guard him, — ^two
in the kitchen, two in the parlour, and
two at the gate, and sorra drop or nip
can he take without them to watch over
him!"

"Nonsense; there's only one policeman
up at the castle ! "

" Only one, is it ! " exclaimed Conolly
in mock surprise. "Sure that is a small
attendance for so mighty a man ! "

At this sally the other boatsmen were
convulsed — Shawn almost "catching a crab "
in the height of his merriment.

90 My Connaugkt Cousins.

" Ah, you're a bad lot," cried my uncle ;
" O'NeiFs too good for Connaught ! "

"Too good, your honor!" replied Con-
oUy ; " well, then, if that's so, sorra one will
mind when he goes to a better place 1 "

" You want me for a landlord," said my
uncle, shaking his fist.

" Troth then, we do ; more power to ye !
It's not the likes of you that could be
turning poor boys out of house and
home I "

"I'd have my rents out of you, and
if you didn't pay, I'd evict the whole of
you ! What do you think of that, now ? "

It was very easy to see what they
thought of it, for my uncle's good nature
and generosity were notorious. They heeded
his high words no more than the idle wind.
Hadn't he stood up for the boys again
and again, when it was a question between
rich and poor 1

"O'Neil's a poor-spirited man," said
my uncle in an aside to me; **he doesn't

My Connaugkt Cousins. 91

understand the people, and I'm afraid he'll
get into trouble."

We were now in the narrows, and far
away to our right we could see the
highway. All at once, ConoUy uttered an
exclamation.

" Look, it's himself ! "

In the far distance, trotting slowly along
the road, was a dog-cart. A grey-haired
gentleman in an ulster was driving, with
a groom seated at his side, and two armed
poKcemen behind him. They went very
leisurely, and whenever they approached
any turn in the road, or other « coign of
vantage," the groom peeped nervously for-
ward, holding something in his hand.

ConoUy rested on his oar, convulsed with
silent laughter.

" See to Sam the Sassenach, now," he
said. "He's got the master's big pistol;
but he's in dread of his life."

*' Sam the Sassenach," so called by the
tenantry, was Mr O'Neil's English groom,

92 MyConnaught Cousins.

a fat and timorous importation from Bel-
gravia, who looked upon the Irish as barba
rians, and without an " h " to bless himselj
with, held them and their language in the
utmost contempt.

"Oh, mille murther," said Conolly, "if
your honor would only lend me the gun,
I would like to have a shot at the houchal
— ^bad cess to him ! "

"Silence, you scoundrel!" thundered
my uncle; "how dare you talk like
that ? "

"Sure, it's too far off for him to be
hurted ! " pleaded Conolly. " But if he
only heard the ghost of the sound, he*d
be off, like my mother's lame gander,
screeching wid the firight."

The road pursued by the dog-cart wound
through the lonely waste ; and in the lone-
liest part of all, on the wayside, stood
an iron police hut, where there was a
detachment of police day and night. Close
to the hut the dog-cart stopped, and several

My Connaught Cousins. 93

black figures ran over and stood talking
with Mr O'NeiL

It was curious to watch the change of
expression in the boatmen's faces a^ they
looked at the distant group. Their brows
were knit, their teeth set, their whole
look was indescribably sinister and for-
bidding. :

" Away with ye ! " cried my uncle, and
with one last scowl of hatred and disdain,
they bent themselves to their oars.

It was now scorching hot, and the wind-
less waters of the Qord flashed back the
splendours of the sun, like a golden mirror,
on which our boat was crawling, like a fly.
The hills on every side of us, the reflections
of the hills under us, were netted in a
throbbing haze of light.

It was hard work rowing in such a blaze,
and soon the men leant on their oars, pant-
ing and perspiring. My uncle looked at
his watch ; it was two o'clock.

" Where shall we lunch, girls ? " he said.

94 My Connaught Cousins.

The girls did not know. There were a
thousand bright places round about, and
one was as good as another.

" Try Eilian na Sealgh, your honor,"
suggested GonoUy. " There it lies before
ye, wid a strip of white sand and a stream
of fresh water, and besides that, there's a
chance at the seals on the rocks."

We had only to glance at the island,
lying green aud sunny, right before us,
with the " strip of white sand " shining
like gold ; and Conolly's suggestion was
carried nem con.

There was a mile to row ; but with the
prospect of rest and whisky before them,
the men pulled like galley slaves escaping
for life. Before long we ran in on the
golden sand, ConoUy and Shawn jumped in
knee-deep, and carried us out one by one,
with guns, luncheon, baskets, rugs, and
other paraphernalia.

Oh that golden beach of Eilian na Sealgh !
• Oh the tiny rivulet running silvern down

My Connaught Cousins, 95

the mossy rocks, and trickling down ii^
innumerable diamonds and rubies to the
cool white fringe of the sea !

Oh the lichened rocks, scattered here and
there, making dark shades for coolness, the
silvery sand as dry as gold dust, which
when you lifted it in your hand you found
to be full of countless tiny shells, glittering
with all the colours of the prism !

Did my reader, who has doubtless pic-
nicked many a time on some green bank or
scented lawn on the banks of the Thames,
or on some heathery knoll in the Highlands,
ever find such an oasis as I am trying to
describe ? If so, his lines have indeed been
ca^t, as mine were, in pleasant places!
When Aileen, with Murray's assistance, had
spread the snowy cloth on the sands ; when
Oona had laid out the silver luncheon
service, knives, forks, and glasses; and
when Kathleen had produced the contents
of her baskets, — cold pat^s, grouse pies,
fowl and ham, enough to provision a garri-

96 My Connaught Cousins.

son for a week, with sherry and whisky for
the men, and a bottle of champagne for the
girls, — who would have thought that we
were banqueting in hapless Ireland, with
Land Leaguers and landlord shooters for
attendant spirits ?

While Conolly and the boatmen withdrew
to a little distance and threw themselves
down in the shelter of the rocks, waiting
for their turn to come, we feasted royally,
and discovered before long that the girls,
who understood Lish appetites, had not
made such unnecessary provision after
aU.

Then, fished out of the basket by Kath-
leen's deft hand, and received with a shout
of acclamation, came some of my uncle's
choicest cigars, which were merrily handed
refund.

" And now," said my uncle, " let the boys
have their turn ; while they're feeding we'll
have a turn round the island, and maybe a
shot at a seal I "

My Connaught Cousins. 97

So we rose and scattered, while Kathleen
and Oona signalled to the men.

"Don't leave them too much whisky,
darlings," said my uncle as he started oflf,
" or we'll never get home to-night 1 "

The girls laughed and nodded, while we
lifted up our guns and prepared to inspect
the island.

Somehow or other — was it by accident or
of set purpose, I wonder — we separated on
our tour of inspection. My uncle strolled
oflF with Bingley and Kathleen, Murray dis-
appeared with AUeen, and I, ten minutes
after lunch was over, found myself wander-
ing among the sweet-smelling heather with
Oona by my side !

That must bring the record of my day's
adventure to a conclusion. What took place
afterwards is rwt to be put on paper ! As
for sporting after that ramble with Oona, it
was out of the question. The rest of the
day's sailing seemed like a dream. I was
dimly conscious of the sun setting and the
VOL. I. o

98 My Cannaught Cousins.

moon beginning to rise: of the silvern
radiance lighting bay and creek, and leaving
the hills in ink-black shadow : of the phos-
phorescent water splashing from the boats-
men's oars, while ConoUy, well warmed with
whisky, crooned ballads about the "Green
Shamrock/' and " Eory of the HiUs." All
I cared for was the touch of a little hand
and the smile of a gentle face. At last, as
the boat grated on the shingle, and we pre-
pared to alight close to home, my uncle
clapped me on the shoulder.

"Jack, my boy, wake up," he said merrily ;
" you've been wool-gathering all the day ! "

CHAPTER VI.

E were all very tired after that
day's outing, and made a singu-.
larly quiet party in the drawing-
room after dinner. My uncle indeed had
fallen back in his chair in a sound sleep. I
was feeling very much as if I should soon
follow his example, when a voice in my ear
aroused me.

" Cousin Jack/' it said, " I believe I saw
you nodding ! Sure, now, if you sleep all
the evening you'll spoil your night's rest, so
come and see my study 1 "

I opened my eyes. I rose with alacrity,
for I had recognised the voice as Oona's,

lOO My Connaught Cousins.

and when that voice spoke, trust me to
follow ! Besides, the study of which I
had heard so much, and seen absolutely
nothing, contained certain treasures at
which I longed to have a peep. Once
or twice already I had expressed my
desire to make my way up to the hal-
lowed spot, but my entreaties had always
been without avail. There was some work
going on there which I must not dis-
turb, some precious papers lying about
which I must not examine. When Oona
was out, the door of the virgin sane-
tuary was securely locked, and the key
placed in her pocket ; when she was in,
she was mostly locked in all alone.

But times were changed; the precious
work was either finished or destroyed, and
the room was open.

"Patience has at length reaped its re-
ward," I said to myself as I followed Oona
upstairs, and found myself at last standing
in the middle of the chamber.

My Connaught Cousins. loi

It was just such a room as I should have
imagined my dreamy cousin to have ; it was
daintily fitted up, and contained such a
profusion of first-class writing materials as
showed me at once that she was by no means
an established litterateur. Go into the study
of a literary blue-stocking, pure and simple,
and you will find scarcely one pen fit to
write with, scarcely a bit of decent paper on
which to scribble your name ; but Oona had
everything of the best, a perfect profusion
of pens, ink, and papers, two large waste-
paper baskets crammed full to overflowing,
a nice collection of. books, and two pretty
reading-lamps for burning the midnight oil

I examined the room, and praised it. I
endeavoured to be duly impressed by the
silver medals and the handsome volume
of fables which Oona had received as a
child.

Then I asked for the manuscripts, which,
I must confess, aroused my curiosity. But
they were not forthcoming. Instead, I

I02 My Connaught Cousins.

was told to sit down and be patient, as
Oona wanted to talk to me.

Nothing loth, I threw myself into an
easy-chair, and waited.

"Cousin Jack," she began, taking a
chair in front of me, and looking seri-
ously into my face, "I have written a
story."

" So I should have guessed," I returned,
glancing at the profusion of writing mate-
rials which filled the room.

" No ; but I mean a long story, a good
story, a story that really ought to be

" My dear," I returned, laughing, " most
authors think the same; if they didn't,
there wouldn't be quite so much trash
given to the world."

But Oona was in no joking mood. To
my utter amazement, I saw her pale cheek
flush, her lovely eyes fill with tears. She
rose, and would have left the room, but
T stopped her.

My Connaught Cousins. lo*^

J

" Oona ! " I cried in amazement, " what'fl
the matter?"

"Nothing," was the curt reply.

"But there is," I persisted; "you are
oflfended at my silly joke, and you want
to quarrel with me, but Fm not going to
allow it. ril apologise. I'll do anything
you like to show Tm sorry; but if you
persist in hardening your heart against me,
FU not stop another hour in Storport."

As I spoke the last words, I saw ever so
slight a shadow pass over her face ; her Up
quivered, and the large tears that had
gathered in her eyes began to fall ; thei next
moment she was actually sobbing on my
shoulder.

I tried to soothe her, but I must confess I
was by no means displeased at these curious
changes in her temperament. I folded my
arms about her and caressed her forehead
like — like a father ; and as she lay sobbing
in my arms, with her lovely face hidden on
my shoulder, I discovered what, but for

104 My Connaugkt Cousins.

this little incident, might have remained a
secret for some time longer. During these
few weeks of lazy enjoyment, while I had
been studying the Connaught peasants and
lounging about the Connaught bogs, I had
fallen very deeply in love with the prettiest
girl in the district.

I stood like one in a dream, spell-bound
with delight. How long I remained thus
I don't know — ^time stood still for me, and
my head whirled round. But suddenly I
became conscious that her sobs had ceased,
that she withdrew herself from my embrace,
raised for a moment her blushing face to
mine, and then turned to leave the room.

But again I stopped her.

" Come," I said, " tell me we are friends."

She did not answer, but she hung her
head, as if to hide her tear-stained face, and
held forth her hand. I took it in both of
mine, and drew her towards me. At first
she resisted, then she allowed me to press
her to my breast and kiss her. No words

My Connaught Cousins. 105

were spoken, but I felt she understood, and
I knew that she loved me.

She begged for a few minutes' leave of
absence to bathe her tear-stained cheeks,
and I let her go ; when she returned I
thought her looking more charming than
she had ever been before. There was a
magical light in her eyes, a fine flush on
her cheek, and a winning smile upon her
pretty lips, which I tried to persuade myself
had not been there before. She laughed,
too, with a sort of hysterical gladness ;
there was a tremor in her voice, and I
could not get her to look straight at me,
but when I drew my chair close to the one
in which she sat, and took her hand in
mine, she did not draw it away.

I had forgotten all about the story, but
Oona had not ; to my amazement she took
up the subject, which had almost caused us
to quarrel, in nervous haste.

" Cousin Jack," she said, " don't you
really want to hear about my story ? "

io6 My Connaught Cousins.

" Of course I do," I returned. " I have
been waiting all this time to hear about it
But Oona, why not call me * Jack/ without
the * cousin ' ? "

" You would like it better ? "

" Much better."

" Very well, then ; if you will listen
patiently I will try."

I was perfectly willing to listen so long
as I could keep my seat by her side, and
hold her warm little hand in mine. So 9A
we sat thus, Oona told me about the story
— ^that wonderful story upon which all her
hopes of future greatness were evidently
based. The narrative, she said, was true
— that is to say, it was an exact record
of events which had actually taken place at
Kildare Castle some , half a century ago.
Kildare, she proceeded to explain, w^ a
most romantic spot, situated about twelve
Irish miles from Storport. Oona, attended
by either Conolly or Shawn, had ridden
thither again and again, was well acquainted

My Connaught Cousins. 107

with the old cauliagh who lived in the
keep and had charge of the ruin ; conse-
quently she had been shown over it, not
once but many times, had inspected every
relic extant, and had heard the history of
a wildly improbable and most unfortunate
love affair which had happened to the Ross
family that very generation.

" It is this story," continued Oona, " which
I have written in my own way, and which I
want you to read. But sit still ; Fll get
you the manuscript presently. I have some-
thing more to tell you first."

" Go on, my darling ; I am all attention."
" Well, before you came — that is to say,
when you wrote to say that you would come
— ^we girls got much more interested in you
than we had been before, and we talked a
great deal about you. After a good many
discussions we settled in our minds what
you must be like, and then as we had pro-
mised papa to do our best to amuse you, we
began to consider how we could best keep

io8 My Connaught Cousins.

our promise. But now we all disagreed :
one thought you would like one thing, and
one another, and we began to despair of
coming to any conclusion, when Kathleen
suggested a plan which we all agreed to.
She said that, as we had so many ideas of
amusing you, you ought to get the benefit
of them all ; that we ought each to take a
day, to be called by the name of the one
who chose it, and during that day the girl
whose name it bore would undertake all the
arrangements ; that, at the end of the visit,
you were to be made to say which day you
had enjoyed the most — Kathleen's day,
Aileen's day, Nora's day, my day, Biddy's
day, or Amy's day. Well, what do you
think of it ? "

" What do I think of it ? Why, I think
it's far and away the best thing I've
heard since I came to Storport. But I
can't make out why I was never told of it
before."

'• Why," said Oona, looking at me from

My Connaught Cousins, 109

head to foot, and giving her half shy smile,
" you would have heard of it soon enough
if you had been stout and middle-aged like
papa. We were all agreed upon one point
— that you would be too short in the breath
to bear the fatigue of much walking on the
bogs. We thought you would want to be
driven about sight-seeing, and entertained
in that way ; but when we found how dif-
ferent you were, we thought you wouldn't
want us to amuse you. But the other day,
when I had just finished my story, I thought
I would tell you of it, because I wanted to
take my day."

" Good fairy number one !" I said. " Well,
Oona, when would you like the day to be ?
and what would you like to do ? I should
dearly love to hear my little girl's idea of
the best way of entertaining me even for
twenty-four hours ! "

" But if you don't like the idea ? "

" Then ril say so 1 "

"Will you really? Then you shall

1 1 o My Connaught Cousins.

hear. I am afraid it is rather selfish/' con-
tinued Oona, " but after all you may enjoy
it. . . . Well, I should like the day to be to-
morrow. I should like to make up a party,
all the girls, papa, and you, and go for a
day's excursion over to Kildare. Some of
us would ride and some would drive. We
could see the old castle and the village, take
our luncheon with us, and get back in time
for dinner in the evening, then after dinner
I should like you to read my story. I
think you would find it much more in-
teresting after you had seen the place where
the scene is laid."

The plan delighted me, and I said so to
Oona's infinite satisfaction ; one thing only
I stipulated for, — ^that I was to be allowed to
read the story alone, after I had retired for
the night.

Having thus arranged matters to our
mutual satisfaction, we descended to the
drawing-room, where tea was awaiting us.
Upon Oona making her plans known, every

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 1

body seconded them, and without any
demur it was agreed that the next day
was to be christened

Oona's Day.

The next morning I rose early, half-an-
hour before my usual time, but upon de-
scending the stairs I found that prepara-
tions for the day's amusement were already
in hand. Both ConoUy and Shawn, bereft
of both coat and waistcoat, were working
with a will for once in their lives. Conolly
was in the stable preparing the horses;
Shawn was rubbing up the phaeton, and
packing into it the luncheon baskets, well
filled by Kate. There was also a large
basket under Oona's special charge; it was
filled with numerous packages of tea, sugar,
tobacco, and little flasks of whisky, to be
distributed amongst Kate's pensioners in
the little village of Kildare. Kate had
intended to be one of the party, but fate

112 My Connaught Cousins.

was against her. Amy, who for some days
had been suflfering with a decaying tooth,
rose that morning with a swelled face, and
was crying with the intense pain, so Kate
sent off Shawn's brother Mickie for Dr
Maguire, and gave up her day's outing to
attend to her sister at home.

By eight o'clock we were all assembled
round the breakfast-table ready dressed for
the day. The four girls wore riding-habits.
Oona, who had donned hers for the first
time since I came to Storport, looked prettier
than I had ever seen her, and was respon-
sible for the exceedingly meagre breakfast I
took. Whether or not she was conscious of
this I cannot say, — she scarcely looked my
way at all, and took no notice whatever of
me, and she succeeded in diverting general
attention from me, at the expense of Aileen,
whom she joked incessantly about Murray's
particular attentions on the day before. In
the middle of breakfast she left the table
and went over to Amy, who sat by the fire

My Connaught Consins. 1 1 3

looking the picture of misery, with her head
wrapped up in flannel.

Breakfast over, we all made a move.

" Now, girls," cried my uncle, " how are
you going to place yourselves, for, sure
enough, 'tis time we were started ? Alley,
will you ride ? Jack, my boy, will you
make a trial of Lucy ? She's fresh after
being stabled for a couple of days, and
will do herself credit."

" Oh, papa, don't give Jack Lucy this
morning ! " cried Oona ; then remembering
herself, she came to a sudden and confused
stop.

Lucy was my uncle's riding mare, a
handsome thorough-bred, famous for bolt-
ing, and shying when ridden by a stranger,
but as docile as a lamb beneath her master's
hand. When she first came into the
family, my uncle had intended her for a
birthday present for one of the girls ; in
the nick of time, however, her infirmities
were discovered. My uncle, finding her

VOL. I. H

1 1 4 My Connaught Cousins.

quiet beneath his hand, decided to keep
her for his own use, and forbade the girls
to ride her. No sooner had the edict gone
forth than Aileen, who was a wild, fearless
horsewoman, was seized with a desire to
have a canter on Lucy's back.

One day, when she and Nora were rid-
ing, they came upon ConoUy, who was
exercising the mare. The girls rode up to
him, and Aileen, after a deal of persuasion,
succeeded in inducing him to change the
saddles, placing her own on Lucy's back,
and his upon the horse on which she sat.

This done, Aileen, her eyes sparkling
with delight, placed her foot in ConoUy s
hand, and leapt lightly into the saddle.
Alas I no sooner was she fairly seated, and
with the reins in her hand, than Lucy
reared, plunged, turned round and round,
and finally bolted across country at light-
ning speed. On she went, her neck swell-
ing, her eyes glaring, and foam flying from
her mouth, — over ditches and stone walls,

My Connaught Cousins. 115

and across dangerous stretches of bog, —
while Aileen, almost paralysed with fright,
sat helpless in the saddle.

Being a good horsewoman, she managed
to keep her seat until the mare galloped
up the broad drive to Ballyshanrany, and
paused before her stable door. Then Aileen
fainted away.

From that day forth the girls regarded
Lucy with positive terror; it was the re-
membrance of this which had made Oona's
cheeks turn pale when her father proposed I
should ride the mare.

Lucy was certainly very fresh that morn-
ing; she pawed the gravel, champed her
bit, tossed her head, and looked ready for
a race indeed. Not being an over-brilliant
rider, I firmly refused my uncle's invitation
to mount the mare, and he took her himself.
Aileen and Nora sprang into their saddles,
and the phaeton, drawn by a couple of
sturdy ponies, was left for Biddy, Oona,
and myself.

1 1 6 My Connaughi Cousins.

All the horses were tolerably fresh, and
we started off at a spanking pace, the
riders galloping on ahead, and Oona
guiding her ponies with a wonderfully
steady hand. For some distance the road
which we traversed was the one which I
had travelled on first coming to Storport,
a dreary road enough, with flat stretches
of bogland on either side of us, backed in
the far distance by ranges of desolate-look-
ing hills.

The weather had changed too, for the
sun had disappeared behind banks of threat-
ening clouds, and the usual mist was driving
about like smoke.

We had left the village far behind, and
were passing through a country as desolate
looking as the prairies. Here and there
we picked out a woman working diligently
on the bog, sometimes we passed a donkey
trudging sleepily along with its turf-laden
panniers, and driven by a barefooted little
urchin ; but that was all. Presently the

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 7

riders slackened their speed. Shawn, who
was seated in the rumble behind the carriage,
spoke rapidly to Oona in the Irish tongue.
She immediately pulled the ponies up.

"We are near the river," she said, ad-
dressing me, "and Shawn thinks you
may find a few ducks lying under the
bank. You needn't go unless you like ;
you'll have to pass over some nasty
ground before you get a shot."

We had come to a standstill. Shawn
had leapt from his seat, and was passing
with immense strides over the bogland
which lay on our right. The riders had
fallen back, and my uncle, who was now
close to the phaeton, called out, —

" Jack, my boy, out with your gun
and away with you, for you are pretty
sure of a duck. Stop a bit. Til go along
with you. Timlin, ye thief, come and
hold Lucy, and see you hold her well."

So saying, he slipped from the saddle,
threw the bridle to a rao^ged urchin who

1 1 8 My Connaught Cousins.

had been at work cutting turf on the
bog, and who came up immediately to
my uncle s call, possessed himself of his
gun, which had been packed away in the
phaeton, and put some cartridges in his
pocket. I hastened to follow his example, and
we started off, shaping our course according
to the signs we received from Shawn.

The ground on which our course lay
was a black stretch of bogland, miry
and spongy to the tread, interspread
with tussocks of hard earth and stunted
heather, so that our walk consisted of a
series of jumps from one to another of
these points of vantage. For a time we
went along in this fashion, I keeping in
the wake of my uncle, who, being well
accustomed to that sort of thing, was
bounding along like a boy. Presently,
finding the muscles of my legs getting
painful, and my breath about to leave
me, I gazed around, and perceived what
I believed a haven of rest, a broad piece

My Connaught Cousins. 1 1 9

of land, green, fresh, and fair, lying exactly
between Shawn and me.

I looked round, intending to point this
out to my uncle, but he was already far
on ahead, and keeping still to the tussocks
which skirted this fresh, green plain. I
dared not call aloud to him, for fear of
disturbing the ducks, so I determined to
let him go on and take advantage myself
of the green sward.

I stepped upon it, heedless of the wild
antics indulged in by Shawn, and found it
decidedly moist, but after all, I mentally
declared, an improvement on the tussocks.
I had got about half-way over when my
progress was arrested by loud cries, and
looking round I perceived that both my
uncle and Shawn were making the most
violent gestures intended for my edification.
Imagining that they were urging me on to
greater speed, I quickened my footsteps,
when all of a sudden I found that the earth
had literally opened and swallowed mc.

I20 My Connaught Cousins,

Yes, there I was, buried up to the arm-
pits, and only saved from entire suffocation
by the gun, which, by a lucky accident,
rested on a couple of tussocks, and afforded
me some support.

I was in and utterly helpless ; my legs and
body were fast becoming frozen with the
cold contact of mire, and I felt it was suck-
ing me down.

" Lie quiet, yer honor, lie quiet," called
Shawn, heedless now of ducks or geese either ;
" don't move, but keep a firm hold of the
gun.

I did as he suggested, and despite the
deathly suction all around me, I managed
to keep myself up, while Shawn and my
uncle, keeping to the tussocks still, came up
to within half-a-dozen yards of me. Then
Shawn, who had taken from his waist certain
coils of rope, which served him as braces,
made a large noose, and threw it towards
me. I managed with considerable difficulty
to slip my arms through it. When this was

My Connaught Cousins. 121

done, my uncle and Shawn laid hold
of the other end, and they drew me out
"pop" like a cork from a bottle. When
the operation was over, and I stood upon a
tussock safe and sound, my condition may
be better imagined than described. I felt
as if the lower part of my body was made
of mud and ice, but both my uncle and
Shawn were perspiring furiously.

" Keep to the tussocks in future, Jack ! "
said my uncle ; " 'tis the only foothold you
can trust ; besides, your next adventure of
the kind may not end so well. I once had
a valuable mare in the same plight, and as
we couldn't get the poor beast out, we had
to shoot her."

He then produced the flask, which he
always carried in his breast-pocket of his
shooting jacket, and gave us whisky all
round. Knowing by this time that the
ducks must have been frightened into the
next county, we started for the road. As
both the barrels of my gun were clogged

122 My Connaught Cousins.

with filth, I handed it to ShawTi, but my
uncle managed to pick up a couple of soli-
tary snipe which rose at his very feet.

When we reached the road we found the
girls, who had watched the adventure, in a
state of great excitement. They had all
changed places too. Aileen and Nora were
seated in the phaeton. Oona and Biddy
had managed somehow to get into the
saddles, and they one and all insisted that
I must mount Lucy. Oona's fear of the
mare seemed to me to have disappeared,
but I afterwards discovered that she had
mounted Jack with some wild idea of being
at hand to preserve me from danger if Lucy
should prove refractory.

So we started off again, and after a pre-
liminary canter, during which I found Lucy
the very queen of horse-flesh, I felt none the
worse of my adventure. A warm glow was
stealing all over me. I bent forward in my
saddle, and the three horses, keeping well
abreast, galloped merrily along the road.

My Connaught Cousins. 1 2 3

In this manner we entered the viUage of
Kildare.

The village proper consisted of a mere
handful of huts, which looked as if they
had been thrown up at random on the bog,
just as moles throw up their tiny mounds of
earth. They seemed to me to resemble the
cabins inhabited by the Esquimaux, lying
low, built of mud, and thatched with turf
sods. Here and there at the doors an old
woman was squatting on her haunches,
smoking a black pipe, or two or three naked
urchins were rolling in the sunlight.

I took one glance at the village, then I
turned to Oona, who was pointing with her
hand, —

" Look, Jack, look ! " she said, " that is
Kildare Castle."

The ruins of the old castle stood on a low,
green promontory, or rather an isthmus,
connected by a narrow neck of sand with the
adjoining land. Part of it was roofless and
uninhabited, save by a noisy flock of jack-

1 24 My Connaught Cousins.

daws ; but attached to the ruin was a
low, modern-looking building, dilapidated
enough, but still tolerably habitable. On
the green swards in front large numbers of
tame geese were feeding. Beyond stretched
the estuary of the sea, broken into crisp
light waves, and shifting its colours like a
sword blade in the sun.

I had just finished my survey w^hen the
phaeton drove up, and there began a general
discussion as to what we must all do. Of
course it went without saying that Oomi
and I must inspect the castle, and Biddy
volunteered to join us. My uncle preferred
a couple of hours on the moor, while Aileen
and Nora volunteered to distribute Kath-
leen's gifts, and afterwards to lay out the
lunch, so as to have everything ready for a
pleasant meal by the time we were all
re-assembled. My uncle therefore took his
gun and walked oflf, promising to be back
at the hour fixed for lunch, while the rest
of us pushed on across the isthmus to stable

My Connaught Cousins. 125

the horses somewhere among the ruined
castle walls.

Our progress was somewhat slow, for the
road was as neglected as the castle itself.
It was full of deep ruts, covered with
stones, and overgrown with rank weeds and
grass ; but we crossed the isthmus in safety,
and leaving the modern building on one
side, passed under a ruined archway, covered
with rank moss and trailing ivy leaves.
We found ourselves in an old grass-paven
courtyard, at the further end of which
was an open door leading to the castle
tower.

Leaving our horses to graze in the court-
yard, we climbed the winding stairs of the
tower, and soon found ourselves high up
among the ruins. Below us lay the interior
of the old building — roofless, grass-paven,
and strewn with stones, surrounded on every
side by ruined walls, broken arches, and
fragments of masonry. The jackdaws rose
screaming over our heads, and hovered

126 My Connaught Cousins.

against the blue sky. Eight below us lay
the sea, breaking against the black rocks of
the promontory.

From point to point we crept up mould-
ering stairs, which suddenly ceased in
mid-air, into dark holes and corners, that
had once been rooms, down right under
the ruins, where there was actually a real
" dungeon." We had no guide, and thanked
Heaven for that escape ; but Oona acted in-
formally as cicerone^ without boring us with
irrational history and impossible legends,
till our tour of merry inspection came to
an end.

We had lingered so long a time in the ruin,
looking over the relics of the past, and dis-
cussing Oona's story, that when we came
down we found the girls and my uncle
actually awaiting lunch. A goodly-sized
wooden table had been carried from the
neighbouring building into the courtyard,
and upon this the lunch was spread — all
sorts of cakes and dainties, baked by Kath-

My Connaught Cousins, 127

leen's deft hand, with some wine and whisky
to wash them down. By this time our
arrival had become known, and the popula-
tion of the villao;e seemed to be turning
out to welcome us.

Dozens of ragged gorsoons, looking like
little savages, with unkempt heads and bare
feet, clustered round the open gateway, or
glared through every loophole within reach,
while the cauliaghs, young colleens, and
men of the village came up to welcome
" his honour " and the " young ladies —
God bless them ! "

With their assistance Alley and Nora
managed to empty the baskets which had
been sent by Kate.

We had a capital lunch — feeling very
romantic all the while, with the ruined
walls about us, and the open sky above us.

We were waited on by Shawn and the
withered-looking old cauliagh who kept
the castle. When it was over, we lit up
our cigars and strolled out upon the pro-

130 My Connaught Cousins.

" Won't do at all," I said. '' We wfll .
take the horses in starting, and when we've
cantered halfway, you must be content to-
sit quietly in the phaeton, Oona, and TU
drive the ponies home ! "

I had reflected that during the latter half
of our return journey the earth would be
plunged in that dim uncertain light which
makes the most prosaic soul romantic — that
during this time I should love to be seated
in the phaeton with Oona nestling on the
rugs by my side, and probably her little
hand lying warm and tremulous on mine.

My wishes carried the day, and during
the latter half of that return journey I felt
like a man entranced. When I pulled up
the ponies at the door of the Lodge, and
saw Kate standing on the threshold with
a candle in her hand, I startled as one
awakening from a dream. I extricated
Oona from her rugs, and lifted her out,
and as I did so I saw that her eyes were
sparkling with a dreamy kind of joy, and

My Connaughl Cousins. 131

her cheeks were suflfused with love's own
red.

I followed Kate into the Lodge, and, in
answer to her inquiry, assured her it had
been the happiest day I had ever spent in
my life.

I went to bed very early that night, but
when once I was comfortably settled on my
pillows I took out Oona's manuscript, and
proceeded to read her story.

Here it is.

I.

How the wind blew ! How the rain
poured ! The substantial walls of Kildare
Castle seemed to be shaken to their founda-
tions, and above the dreary moaning of
the wind came the ceaseless patter of
the rain.

• " The Lord preserve us ! what a night,"
said Bridget O'Eook, as she threw a liberal
supply of turf on the blazing kitchen fire ;

132 My Connaught Cousins.

" and as if it wasn't bad enough to listen to
the wind and the rain, there's the whole of
ye sitting like taisches. It's a poor place is
Kildare Castle when Master Conn is away !
Andy Beg, ye lazy loon ye ! if ye've any life
in ye, play us a tune ; and if ye cannot dance
patter-a-pie, or sing a song, or tell a tale.
Owen More, ye might as well have stayed
in yer own house to-night ! "

" m play ye a tune, an' welcome, Bridget,
machree,*' said the ragged -looking ruffian
addressed, as he polished his tin-whistle on
his ragged coat-sleeve ; " only I was think-
ing that maybe the master wouldn't be so
well plased to hear us to-night."

" And why not, pray ? " sharply returned
Bridget. " Isn't it the young master who
left us two years ago to go to America that
we're ex pecting home ; and hasn't Master
Conn gone to fetch home one that we shall
all be proud of? This night should be a
night of rejoicing, Owen Mare ! "

" And that's true enough, Mistress Bridget.

My Connaught Cousins. 133

But, in troth, I'm hoping the young master
won't come to-night. God help them that
this wailing wind blows home ! "

With eyes staring wide in astonishment,
and a frown of resentment on her brow,
Bridget was about to reply, when the kitchen-
door suddenly opened, and another figure
crept in. The rain beat in behind the new-
comer, and the fierce gusts of wind scattered
the white ashes on the hearth ; but the door
was quickly banged to, and the new-comer
unslung a canvas bag which was buckled
around his rain - drenched shoulders, and
threw it on to the kitchen table.

" No letters to-night. Mistress Bridget,
but good news!" he said. **The cutter,
wid the young mashter on board, is in the
shelter of Mackinray, and by this time the
young mashter has landed 1 "

" Is that true, Shamus O'Neil ? "

" Sure enough. I was crossing the sands
wid the letters, and when I saw the light,
and knew well enough what it was, I just

134 ^y Connaught Cousins.

gave the word to the boys that were on the
shore, and they took the ferry-boat out, and
then they gave one shout to tell me that the
young mashter was landing ! "

Not a word answered Bridget ; but she
left the kitchen, tripped nimbly along the
hall, and gently opened the library door.

" Mr Antony is come, yer honour," she
said, to an old gentleman who sat reading
by the fire. Her words were literally true.
No sooner had she uttered them than a wild
banging and shouting was heard without,
and, on the hall-door beiug thrown open, a
dark figure strode in.

The heavy gust of wind which blew him
across the threshold was so confusing that
none could see his face ; but Bridget, recog-
nising the deformed figure wrapped in the
heavy ulster, and wearing a dripping wide-
awake hat, said, as she hastily stepped back
out of the region of the wind and rain, —

** Yer welcome, Mr Antony I "

" It's a wild night I*ve brought w^ith me,

My Connaught Cousins. 135

Bridget," returned Antony Eoss. ** Pile up
the kitchen fire, give the skipper some supper,
and the boys a glass all round, for we re
drenched to the skin." Then passing into
the library, and taking his father's hand, he
asked quickly, —

" Is Alma here ? "

" Miss Cliflford ? " returned the old man,
whp still held the hand of his drenched and
storm - tossed son. " No, she's not here,
Antony. What madcap freak made you
weather the storm to-night ? "

The young man laughed.

" I'm not sugar to be blown away by a
puflf of wind, or melted with a little rain.
The skipper wanted to turn tail when the
storm began, but I determined to push
on. I thought Alma would be here, and
I wanted to be able to welcome her
home."

The old man smiled.

*

" If you are not sugar, Antony, my boy,
you're soft enough about Miss Clifford. But

136 My Connaught Cousins.

put your mind at rest about her to-night ;
she's safe with Conn ! "

In a moment, as the old man mentioned
that name, he saw the features of his son
contract as with acute pain, the sun-tanned
cheek turned white as death, the powerful
hands grew cold and tremulous.

" Conn ! " he echoed faintly ; " has he
gone to herf

" Yes, he has gone," returned the old man
quickly, as he narrowly watched the face of
his son. "The poor child was naturally
unhinged by her father's sudden death, and
could not travel so far alone ; and as Conn
was at home, and as he is soon to be her
brother, why what could I do but send him
to bring her here ? "

The old man paused, but still his son said
nothing. The contraction of agony had
left his face, but still his cheeks were pale,
his hands cold and clammy.

" Antony," said the old man, placing his
trembling hand on his son's broad shoulder,

My Connaught Cousins. 137

"ever since you. left this house two years
ago, I have prayed nightly to God that the
bitterness might be taken from your heart
erey ou came back again — ^yes, prayed that
you two might learn to love one another, and
that the curse of Cain which was for ever over-
hanging our house might at length be cleared
away. My boy, don't let me think that I have
prayed in vain ! For God's sake, let me see
you like brothers for once ; let me know that
you can love one another before I die ! "

" / love Conn ? " repeated the young man
dreamily, wiping the cold perspiration which
had gathered on his brow. " I have tried
not to hate him, father, but what cause have
I to love him ? "

" He is your brother ! "

" Yes, he is my brother ; and all his life
his aim has been to blacken the earth for
me. He made me what I am. If I made
a friend, he stepped in and robbed me of
that friend. He knew I had your affection,
— ^he tried to alienate that ; if I won any

138 My Cdnnaught Cousins.

love, he tore it from me ; he has been to me
like the blight that passes over the earth,
and withers up the leaves and flowers ; and
yet, father, if he leaves me Alma Clifibrd,
you shall not have prayed in vain ! I shall
be able to put my hand in his and say, * Conn,
acushla! henceforth let us be brothers. I
forgive you all ! ' "

With a wild, nervous, tremulous clasp, he
pressed the hand which lay in his ; then he
turned hurriedly, and left the room, He
passed along the dimly-lighted hall, up the
old oak stairs, and into a spacious old-
fashioned chamber, where a turf fire Was
smouldering on the hearth. He threw off
his saturated overcoat, sank into a chair
which was drawn up beside the fire, thrust
his hand into his breast, and drew forth a
picture. A miniature, painted in softly tinted
colours, and representing the head of a lovely
girL The face was turned upward, revealing
the soft outline of throat and bust, and deli-
cately tinted cheeks set in a wealth of golden

My Connaught Cousins. 139

hair. The soft red lips were smiling, the
lustrous eyes, shaded with slumbrous lids
atid long dark lashes, were gazing full into
the dark silent face which bent above. All
round the room the wind wailed, and upon
the windows rattled the heavy drops of rain ;
t;h rough the halls of the old castle the faint
sounds of music were wafted, mingled with
the merry laughter of boys and girls.

Seen in the dim light of the room, Antony
Ross looked handsome enough ; but his head
was set low down behind his shoulders, his
breast protruded, and his back had a decided
hump. This defect of his figure had told
upon his health, so that he was strangely
pale for a man accustomed to face sun and
wind in all weathers.

Scarcely hearing, and utterly indifferent,
the young master of the old house sat alone
gazing at the picture in his hand. Presently
Jiis head bent down lower, and with burning
lips he kissed the cold shining glass.

" My Alma ! *' he murmured. " My hope,

140 My Connaught Cousins.

my love, my life, — yes, with you by my
side I could forgive him; but if he came
between you and me, I think that I should
kill him!"

11.

While the eyes of the picture were
gazing into the dark face of the man who
sat alone in the lonely room, the eyes of
the original of that picture were lowered
before the gaze of another man. Miss
Clifford and her escort Conn Ross having
been overtaken by the storm which raged
a whole day and night along the north-west
coast, had been compelled to break their
journey, and seek shelter in a village which
lay some twenty miles from Kildare Castle.
When, therefore, the shadows of night fell
upon the land, when the wind was moan-
ing, the rain pouring, the sea raging, she
sat in warmth and comfort reclining list-
lessly in an easy-chair, her companion by
her side.

My Connaugkt Cousins. 141

Conn was a young man of about two-
and-twenty, tall and shapely, with broad
powerful shoulders and a finely moulded
head and face. His features were Grecian
in outline, his cheeks faintly tanned with
the sun ; a fair moustache shaded his
mouth, and his head was covered with a
wealth of nut-brown hair. He had so often
heard that he was the handsomest fellow
in Connaught that he had at length ac-
cepted the belief that, take him all in all,
there were few to approach him; hence,
therefore, that air of perfect self-confidence
and calm self-contentment, which in many
other men would have been an oflf nee.
In Conn, however, there was such an air of
simple manliness and bonhomie as to disarm
all severity, and win affection for him
wherever he went.

Alma Clifford sat in her chair, ostensibly
holding her red-slippered feet before the
blaze of the fire, but covertly studying the
face of her companion. They had been

142 My Connaught Cousins.

silent for some time; suddenly she
spoke, —

" Do you know, Mr Ross, when I first
saw you I thought you were Antony ! "

He looked up quickly, then he threw
back his head and laughed gaily.

** You don t say so ! " he exclaimed ; and
at his merriment the girl's face fell,

" Well," she returned, more tartly,
** there was nothing in that to make you
laugh so ! He is your brother, and I think
you all resemble each other ! "

Conn did not reply this time. At this bold
assertion both his merriment and his speech
seemed to have got a sudden check.

• " When I saw him last," continued the
girl, ** I was certainly only ten years old,
and at that age one does not notice much,
but it seems to me, from what I remember
of him, that he must be very like you."

Again she glanced half eagerly towards
him, but his head was turned away and he
said nothing.

My Connaught Cousins^.^ 143-

* * Well, am I . not right ? " she . continued
impatiently, for there was something in his'
manner which annoyed her; "are you not
considered like each other ? "

He rose abruptly, walked up and down
the room, with his face still averted, and
replied, —

*' Well, yes, now you mention it, I sup-
pose we are."

Presently he ceased walking, drew his
chair up beside her, and asked, bending low-
and looking into her face, —

" Well, Alma, are you satisfied ? "

" Yes," she answered dreamily.

He smiled, but her face remained grave*^
At that moment her gaze was riveted on
the past, and she saw standing before her
a lad with flashing dark eyes and bright
handsome face, who said, " Good-bye, Alma',,
good-bye ; you are my little sweetheart^
remember, and when I. am a man I shall
come and marry you." How she had loved

that .child, and though she had not seen

444 ^y Connaught Cousins.

iim for eight long, weary years, how the
memory of that last parting still made her
heart beat

It was the memory of that time which
had made her so pliant to her fathers
wishes, so ready, nay, almost eager to give
the promise which he asked.

" Alma, my darling," he had said, " pro-
mise me that, when I am laid to rest, you
will travel back to Ireland and marry young
Antony Eoss."

And Alma, bending low and slipping
her hand into his, had whispered,—

" Dear father, I promise ! " And with
those words ringing in his ears, he uttered
a sigh, and passed away.

A few days later, when Colonel Clifford
was laid to rest, his will was opened, and
Alma found herself a tolerably rich woman.
One half of his large fortune was left to
her unconditionally, the other half "to
Antony Eoss, to pass into his possession
on the day of his marriage with my be-

My Cannaught Cousins. 145

loved daughter Alma. K the marriage
does not take place, the whole to remain
the property of Alma alone."

How Alma had smiled when she heard
that, for she said to herself, — "Antony-
is safe."

She had seen fine faces, had many hand-
some wooers in her life, but her heart had
remained faithful to her boy lover. Though
she had not seen him for so long, letters
had come telling her of his struggles, his
hopes and fears, and always ending with
a picture of the bright future which they
would one day share together. " My
Alma," he wrote only a short time before,
'* my own bright, beautiful girl, you are the
one golden thread which binds me to this
world. You are my salvation ; without
the knowledge of your truth and love,
life would be a blank to me — I should
think it best to lie down and die ! " And
yet, though he loved her so, he had never

VOL. L K

146 My Connaught Cousins,

once, during all those years, expressed a
wish to look upon her face.

"Have you never thought it strange
that Antony shouldn't have come to see
you all these years ? *'

The voice that was speaking so close to
her, uttering, as it were, her thoughts
aloud, startled her. She flushed slightly,
then, after a while, answered composedly
enough.

" Yes, I have sometimes thought it
curious ; but again, when I have reflected,
my suspicions have seemed so unjust that
I have crushed them away. His love for
me has not died ; indeed I think that
every year it has grown stronger, and
since that is so, why, I have nothing
to fear."

Conn raised his eyes and looked at the
lovely face which was turned towards the
fire, and lit by the faint fire-glow.

It was the very counterpart of the pic-
ture. The rounded cheek, the delicately

My Connaugkt Cousins. 147

curved mouth and nostril, the large, lus-
trous violet eyes, shaded by black lashes.
The crape bands which had bound her hair
were loosened, and the glittering threads
of hair fell in a shimmering veil about her
shoulders, brightening and darkening in
the faint fire-light. As the young man
gazed at her, a perplexed expression crossed
his countenance.

"By the way, have you got a portrait
of Antony ? " he asked suddenly.

" No ! "

"And you have never seen him since
you were ten years old ? "

" Have I not told you so ? "

" But he has surely seen you ? "

"I think not. I sent him a painted
miniature of myself, and he wrote it was
just what he had imagined me to be. It
was the same, yet not the same — he had
left me a lovely child, I had grown to
a lovely woman ! "

The words were spoken not vainly but

148 My Connaught Cousins.

dreamily, as if the thoughts of the speaker
were still buried in the past.

There was silence between them for a
time. Presently Conn spoke again,—

" Your father was anxious for you two to
marry, was he not ? "

"Yes^ — very. It was mainly through
him that we were betrothed as children, —
and on the morning of the day when he
went out to meet his death, he was talking
of my marriage with Antony, and he told
me then that the reason he was so fond of
Antony was because — because of the great
love he had once borne to Antony's mother.
She was not your mother, was she ? "

"No. I believe she died when Antony
was born ! "

" Ah, it was your mother who brought all
the money to Kildare Castle then. Do you
know that papa has left Antony the half
of all he had ? — though, indeed, he need
not have done so, since what is mine is
his."

My Connaught Cousins. 149

" You are not married to him yet ! " said
Conn softly.

" No, not yet," she answered ; " but it's
almost the same thing you know, I have
known Antony so long. Why, I saw you
for the first time the day before yesterday,
and yet, because you are Antony's brother,
I feel that you are mine ! "

He laughed lightly.

"That makes it very nice to be
Antony's brother," he said. " But," he
added to himself, " I would rather be
Antony ! "

Nevertheless, he found it pleasant for
the time being to be what he was, since
it gave him the privilege of being near
to her.

" I wonder why he laughed so when I
said he was like Antony ? " thought Alma,
when she was alone that night. " He ad-
mitted afterwards that I was right, and yet
he still looked amused. It must have been
because I had forgotten whether he wa. fair

150 My Connaught Cousins.

or dark. Of course he is dark — very dark.
His hair is black, so are his eyes ; but in
every other respect he must be very like
Conn."

All that night the wind blew violently,
but in the morning the storm had ceased.
The travellers started early, for now that
they had got so far, they both seemed eager
to reach their journey's end.

As the car rolled on, taking them after
every mile through wilder and more desolate
scenes, the girl grew strangely silent. Wild
thoughts chased each other through her
brain — thoughts of how she was to meet
this man with whom she felt so familiar,
and yet so strange. She knew him, and
yet she did not know him ; the picture of
him which she had loved all these years
was still vividly before her. But now she
was near her journey's end, she felt that the
reality would be strange to her indeed. She
was at length awakened from her dream by
her companion singing aloud, —

My Connaught Cousins, 1 5 1

" * To the Currach of Kildare
The boys they will repair,
And Lord Edward will be there,
Says the Shan Van Vocht ! '

"Look, Alma!" continued Conn, suddenly
stopping his song, - the boys have seen us,
and no mistake, and carried the news to the
castle. Can't you see Kildare? There it
is, look — close by. Are you cold ? We
shall soon be safely housed now. What a
throng of ragamuffins round the door 1 I
must throw them a handful of coppers, I
suppose. By Jove ! they mean to honour
you. Look at the bonfire on the castle
clifiM There's our old family standard
waving from the battlements ! There's
Father Shamus, God bless him ! and — ^by
Jupiter ! there's Antony."

" Antony ! — where ? " she asked, rising
excitedly to her feet. But Conn put his
arms around her and drew her down again.

" Don't get excited," he whispered, " and
don't look— yet ! "

152 My Connaugkt Consins.

Five minutes afterwards the car stopped,
and Conn lifted her down.

By this time her excitement was tre-
mendous. She stood pale and trembling,
conscious only of the wild, ragged crowd
which surrounded her.

" Welcome to Kildare," whispered Conn,
adding quickly, " see, here is Antony to
welcome you too."

Then, and not till then, the girl became
aware that a figure was approaching her
with eager, outstretched arms. She sud-
denly grew cold and sick.

" Is this Antony ? " she gasped uncon-
sciously, drawing close to her companion's
side.

"Yes, Alma, I am Antony," answered
the man. As he spoke he looked at her ;
his cheek grew white as death ; he made
no further attempt to approach her, but
staggered back like a drunken man.

My Connaught Cousins. 153

III.

There is silence in and around Kildare-

the silence of complete repose. The ragged
crowd dispersed several hours ago, and now
the shivering creatures are aU shut up,
like beavers, in their little mud huts ; the
car which took home the priest has re-
turned, and at length all the inmates of
the castle are at rest.

All? — no, there is one at least beneath
the castle roof that night to whose wearied
brain rest will not come ; indeed, it seems
to Alma that her mind will never be at
peace again.

After the first shock produced by the
sight of her lover was over, she had con-
quered herself sufiiciently to enter the
castle with a smile upon her lips and in
her eyes; she had composedly given her
cheek for the old man's caress ; she had
answered his tender inquiries about her

154 ^y Connaught Cousins.

father, her journey, herself; and she had
laughed merrily, though somewhat hysteri-
cally, at the funny stories told by the
priest ; but the moment she found her-
self alone she sat down in a strange be-
wildered way, and tried to think.

But she could not think. She felt like
one weary unto death. Her head was
aching; her heart was beating; her hands
were cold as ice. The deep silence of the
house oppressed her; she threw open her
window, and leaning out upon the sill,
listened to the wild sobbing of the sea.

It was a calm still night, scarce a breath
was stirring ; the heavens were black — dark,
but ever and anon a star peeped out from
amid the troubled masses of cloud which
covered the sky ; the air was very cold — it
touched her burning cheek and lips, and
gently stirred the masses of rippling gold
which lay upon her shoulders. How the
sea was moaning after the wild trouble of
the storm ! The waters surged in and ou^

My Connaught Cousins. 155

of the caverns, and the white foam was
beaten about the cliflfs.

And so Alma had seen her lover; at
last she had come face to face with the
man whose image had filled her soul for
so many years ; and what then ? She
recalled his letters, one by one, and each
one seemed to be a dagger piercing her
heart. She thought of the love, the wild,
consuming passion of which those letters
spoke, and the memory made her heart
sick. A vision of her lover, deformed and
sinister as she had seen him that night,
flashed across her brain, and she covered her
eyes, as if to shut out the sight, and moaned.

She rose from the window, and turned
away; she would think no more. Her
hands were burning feverishly now, her
cheeks and lips were like fire. Leaving
the window open, for the air of the room
seemed stifling, she threw herself, dressed
as she was, upon the bed, and closed her
eyes. At last she slept. Slept and dreamed,

156 My Connaught Cousins.

— for in her sleep she seemed to be flying
wildly through desolate wastes, and as she
went she heard footsteps pursuing her, and
turning, she saw that face — pale as when
she last had seen it — weary, haggard, and
wild. The great black eyes were burning
upon hers, the arms were extended, while
the livid lips murmured " My Alma ! " At
the sight she screamed and fled the faster,
but the figure came swiftly on. Suddenly
she saw that huge caverns were opening
all around her, — she heard wild cataracts
moaning, and felt the icy touch of the
wind. Again she glanced backward, when
she saw that the dark figure was still pur-
suing her, the white face coming nearer
and nearer to hers; the arms were ex-
tended now, and about to clasp her, and she
shrieked aloud and woke. Awoke to feel
the bitter wind blowing upon her, to hear
the wild sobbing of the sea without.

She arose, and looked wildly around her.

She had been sleeping for hours. The

My Connaught Cousins. 157

ashes of the fire lay dead and cold upon
the hearth, and now the room was flooded
with the cold, white, light of day. Her
head was aching worse than ever ; she felt
feverish and unrefreshed, but she would
not sleep again ; the memory of her dream
made her tremble, as if she were afraid.
She closed her window, and at once pro-
ceeded mechanically enough, and with little
thought of her appearance, to make her
toilet for the day. When this was done,
she opened her door and listened. No one
was astir. She put on her hat and jacket,
then softly descended the stairs, and left
the house.

A dreary landscape surrounded Kildare
Castle, and before it was the sweep of the
open sea. The old standard, a strip of
green decorated with a harp of gold, hung
like a limp rag above the battlements, and
the cold, bare walls looked very chilly,
set as they were in a dark background of
bogland and mist. For miles around

158 My Connaught Cousins.

stretched black, boggy wastes, desolate as
the wastes of her dream, relieved only by
moulderiug greystone walls and wretched
hovels of mud and straw. Far away, like
a white face staring at her from the bog,
she saw a little chapel, and near to it,
crouching beneath its wing, the tumble-
down residence of Father Shamus. Al-
though it was still early, wretched figures,
male and female, clad in picturesque rags,
and carrying creels upon their backs, were
trudging hither and thither across the bog,
and one or two curraghs were sailing, like
black specks, upon the sea. All was placid,
cold and grey. The waters of the sea were
peaceful, save where the great black caverns
sucked them in, then cast them back a mass
of seething foam ; but far away, where the
bogland rose to hills, the mist fell, veiling
the topmost peaks, and darkening into a
threatening line along the horizon.

Taking mechanically a path which led
along the cliflfs, Alma walked slowly on.

My Conttaught Cousins. 159

She was still too dazed to think, but her
large, lustrous eyes dreamily swept the
scene around her. She looked at the white
gulls which came hovering in the air above
her, at the black cormorants which darkened
the rocks below, and she listened dreamily
to the washing of the waves, and opened
her lips to drink in the keen fresh air, but
all the while her soul was far away. Pre-
sently she paused and looked back.

There, on the summit of the hill, stood
Kildare Castle, its chimneys now sending
forth thin lines of blue smoke, the folds
of its tattered standard shaken out by the
rising breeze, and waving faintly. Then
she sat down on a boulder which lay close
to the edge of the high cliff, and turned
her face twards the sea.

How long she remained thus she did
not know. Her trance at length was
broken by the sound of a human voice.

*' So I have found you at last," it said.
** Do you know I have been searching about

i6o My Connaught Cousins.

for the last -half hour, and when I could
not find you, I began to think that you
had run away ? "

IV.

Alma did not require to raise her eyes
to recognise the speaker ; she knew that
the rich, full-toned voice belonged to Conn.

Yes, there he stood, looking handsomer
than ever that morning, with the flush of
health on his brown cheek, the light of
laughter in his bright blue eyes. How
tall and fair, and powerful he was ; and
this morning he seemed to hold himself
erect and throw up his head with a
prouder air than usual ; and when, in his
merry courteous way, he raised his right
hand and swept off his hat, the sunlight,
struggling faintly through the dewy mist,
just touched with gold his clustering curls
of hair, while the breeze swept caressingly
across his bold white brow !

My Connaught Cousins, i6i

As Alma, raising her eyes, beheld him,
she felt her pale face flush, then with a
quick, almost petulant movement, she
turned her head away, and took no notice
whatever of his extended hand.

"Why, what is the matter?" asked
Conn, taking a seat on the cliff before
her, and thrusting his rejected hand into
the pocket of his coat ; and then seeing
that her lips were quivering, her eyes fill-
ing with tears, he added quickly, — " Alma,
what have I done to pain you ? "

"It is not what you have done, but
what you have m>t done ! " returned the
girl. "Do you think it was fair or kind
or generous to bring me here, and never
say a word ? I did not expect you to be
generous to me ; but he is your brother,
you might have spared him ! "

All the brightness faded from Conn's
face, he took the girl's hand, and bent
earnestly over her.

" Alma," he said, " if you knew all you

VOL. I. L

1 62 My Connaught Cousins.

would not speak to me like that, and if— if
you were not what you are I should walk
away back to Kildare and say nothing ; per-
haps it might be the wisest plan, but I can't
do it — I could'nt bear to be misjudged by
you. You say I should have spoken ; if I
had, what then ? You would never have
come to Kildare, Antony would have said I
had separated you, and God only knows there
might have been bloodshed between us ! "

He felt the little hand tremble in his
grasp, the cheeks went pale as death, but
Alma did not answer.

"A week ago," continued Conn quietly,
" it was a matter of perfect indiflference to
me whom Antony married, but when I saw
you I was amazed, for I thought you hnew ;
afterwards, when I found you did not, I
could not speak, for I thought she shall see
for herself, and then she will be satisfied to
end the farce and return ! "

The girl's face went paler still ; she rose
excitedly to her feet

My Connaught Cousins. 163

"You think a life-long tie can be
so easily broken ? You think the love
which has filled our hearts for years
can be cast aside like an old gown, and
forgotten ? "

" Pardon me/* said Conn quietly. " I
never said that Antony would change ; he
has no cause, he has got the best of the
bargain ! "

"Then you confine the heartlessness to
me. You think that because Antony is —
well, what he is, I should be justified in
saying * My dream is over ; our compact is
at an end. Good bye ! ' "

"Yes," said Conn boldly, "I think you
would be justified ! "

Alma did not reply this time, for the
memory of last night came back upon her
and turned her heart sick. Were not these
the very thoughts which had come unbidden
to her brain ? Had she not said to herself
over and over again : " If the shock has
killed my love it is no wonder. I have not

164 My Connaught Cousins.

met my lover, the handsome, brave man
whom I have dreamed of all these years,
but a monster who has taken his name, and
whom I cannot love, and since this is so,
why let the blame rest with him who has
allowed me to indulge in a dream, which he
knew must sooner or later be so cruelly
dispelled." All she did was to turn away
her face and murmur faintly, —

" He cannot help being what he is."

"No," said Conn, '* he cant help it, sure
enough, but he should have been mpn
enough to tell you years ago ! "

Again the echo of her thought. Alma felt
her heart pulsating madly, but she turned
now and looked her companion in the
face.

"Perhaps we had better not talk any
more about Antony," she said ; and Conn,
shrugging his shoulders, cordially endorsed
her words.

" It can't be a pleasant subject to either
of us," he said ; " but promise me this, Alma,

My Connaught Cousins, 165

that whatever happens between you two,
we shall ever remain friends ! "

" Yes, I promise," returned Alma quietly.
Then she took his proffered arm, and walked
with him along the cliffs towards Kildare
Castle.

The day had brightened hour by hour,
and now the sun had drawn the mist from
the hills, and was shining brightly on the
bogs and on the sea.

The seagulls screamed still above them,
and the great cormorants flapped their black
wings on the rocks below.

The waters were troubled, for the yawn-
ing caverns sucked them up still, and spat
out the hissing foam, which spread like a
white shroud upon the sea. Walking thus,
supported by a strong arm, conscious of a
protecting presence near, and surrounded
by the glory and mystery of such a scene,
Alma's troubled soul grew more at peace.

Presently she raised her eyes to his face,
and as she did so her pale cheek flushed.

i66 My Connaugkt Cousins.

That quick movement of the head had told

her that they were now beneath the shadow

of Kildare Castle, and as she raised her eyes

they met a pair of flashing black orbs which

were gazing from the window above. What

had happened to the morning ? had a blight

passed over the land ? Alma shuddered as

she entered the castle door.

• .•• ....

" Alma, my little darling ! is it really
you ? Last night I dreamed that you were
taken from me, and when I woke this morn-
ing I thought the dream must augur ill ;
but now I hold your hand and see your face,
I laugh at such shadowy warnings, and
frel they are quite untrue ! "

The betrothed lovers were alone at last —
alone in the great dining -hall of Kildare
Castle, with the faint misty light stealing in
upon them through the open window, and
silence all around. He stood before her hold-
ing her hands, clasping them with a feverish,
passionate clasp, although they lay like lead.

My Connaught Cousins. 167

; "My little darling!" he said, pressing
her hand still tighter, '' when you shrank
away from me last night, I thought you had
dealt my death-blow ; see what a coward
love makes of a man ! and for the first time
I felt sorry that you did not know."

*' Why did you not tell me ? " asked the
girl faintly, and Antony replied, —

" Because I was afraid ! — yes, afraid ! for
I tell you love has made a coward of me.
Listen, Alma ! When first I found that I
was maimed and crippled, I thought, * I will
say nothing, — if I do, her love may die, and
then death to me too ! This cannot last for
ever. In two or three years I shall be right
again, and then little Alma will bless me
for sparing her the knowledge of so much
pain I

He paused as if expecting a reply, but
none came. Alma's cheeks grew paler in
the faint grey light which sufiused her face
and form ; her hands were cold and tremu-
lous ; her heart grew fainter in her breast.

1 68 My Connaught Cousins.

She stood silent for a time, conscious of his
feverish clasp, his burning, eager look ; then
with an eflFort she raised her eyes, and forced
her cold lips to speak.

"But afterwards," she said, "when you
found that you were changed for life, why
did you not tell me ? "

" Why ? Well, because I was a fool then
as well as a coward. I should have told
you all I know, but you had grown dearer
to me than my life, and I could not risk the
chance of losing you. Oh, my darlidg, if it
hadn't been for you, God only knows what
I might have become ! Mine has been a
hard life, Alma. Sometimes I have sat
down and thought, ^ Where is the use of all
this struggle, and turmoil, and pain ? Why
not end it ? ' and then the thought of you
came back upon me, and I knew there was
one to sweeten life's bitter cup even for

He paused again, and this time the silence
was broken by Alma's sobs. The room was

My Connaught Cousins. 169

shrouded in darkness now, save where the
faint grey light fell about the window and
the door. Alma could not see her lover,
but the gentle pathos of his words, the pas-
sionate ring of his voice, had touched a
tender chord and stirred up the memory
of years.

" You should have trusted me ! " she
sobbed, bowing her head upon his arm.
" How could you value my love, when you
thought it would die so soon ? "

As her face touched his arm, his whole
body trembled like a leaf. He gently put
his arm around her.

" Alma," he said, " I never thought your
love would die, — if I had, th6 farce would
have been ended years ago ! "

" And yet you did not trust me ? *'

" And yet I did not trust you ! I could
not. • My hand would not write the words
— ^my lips would not utter them. But that
is past and gone. You have seen, my dar-
ling, you know, and still I hold you here ! "

lyo My Connaught Cousins,

She was still sobbing ; her face was buried
on his shoulder, his arm clasped around her.

" Since that day when I looked in the
mirror, and saw and knew the truth, I have
never had the heart to say a prayer. All
the kindliness of my nature was turned to
gall, Alma, and I cursed instead of prayed !
But to-night I shall say a prayer. God is
good ! I have not suffered in vain. My
trials were all as nought compared with the
blessing which He has given me now I "

With an effort Alma conquered her sobs,
and, raising her eyes, looked into his. She
stretched out her arms towards him ; her
lips were open to speak the answer to his
prayer, when suddenly the moon burst forth
in all her splendour, and her light pouring
in a flood through the window, lit up a
figure which stood outside. It was Conn,
bareheaded, dressed negligently in a suit of
grey tweed, and smoking a cigar. As he
strolled past the window, he was carelessly
singing a song, —

My Connaught Cousins, 171

" I'll leave my people, both friend and foe,
From all the girls in the world I'll go ;
But from you, sweetheart, oh, never, oh no,
Till I'll lie in the coffin stretched cold and low.
Then, Ora, come with me, come with me, come

with me,
Ora, come with me, brown girl sweet ;
And oh I would go through snow and sleet,
If you would come with me, brown girl sweet ! "

As the figure passed into the darkness
and the voice faded away. Alma's arms fell
powerless by her side, and the words upon
her lips remained unspoken.

During these two interviews, both of the
brothers had omitted to mention one im-
portant fact, — Conn had remained silent
from a certain sense of shame, Antony
because he wished to spare his brother.
Therefore Alma was kept in ignorance of
the fact that it was no other indeed than
Conn who had dealt the blow which had
deformed his brother for life.

172 My Connaught Cousins.

Y.

A period of gloomy weather succeeded
Alma's arrival at Kildare. First the rain
fell, then white mists covered the hill-
tops, and a damp cold wind blew in from
the troubled sea.

It was very dreary in the day-time, but
drearier still at night. Often as Alma lay
in her bed she was awakened from trouble-
some dreams by the breaking of the waves
below, the low moaning of the wind, or the
whining of the dogs chained in the court-
yard. Conn was away from home. He had
left the castle on a fishing expedition among
the hills, and was not expected to return for
several days ; but Antony was there, and
day after day he was ever at her side, either
on the hills or the sea.

Despite his care, each day found the girl's
cheek a shade paler. Her mind was restless
and ill at ease. It seemed to her that the

My Connaught Cousins, 1 73

sunlight had never penetrated into those
gloomy regions, either to brighten the land-
scape or the dismal lives of those who dwelt
upon the land. A dreary people they seemed
to her, with hearts of lead and heavy mourn-
ful eyes, content to live, and toil, and die,
so long as the roof above them remained
the same, and they were sure of having the
waves break upon the sands hard by their
graves.

The strange, dark, gloomy eyes of these
people — savages she called them — seemed to
haunt her out of hope, their low monotonous
voices to ring ominously in her ears. She
was beginning to get fanciful too, and to
imagine that the dreary old castle was
haunted. Often, as she lay awake at night,
she fancied she heard the rushing of feet
along the corridors ; strange cold winds
seemed to be wafted about her room, bring-
ing her the echo of dreary moans.

In these days, if she had had any one at
hand in whom she could have confided, she

174 My Connaught Cousins.

might have cast aside these dreary fancies,
and with an effort have shaken off the fear
which was creeping so coldly about her heart
as if to still its beating.

But she had no one.

She shrank from the thought of confiding
in Bridget, the housekeeper of Kildare
Castle ; Mr Ross, the master, would, she
felt sure, look at her in such a way as to
quench her confidence at the very outset ;
and of Antony she had almost grown afraid.
Why, she did not know. She only felt that
she was amongst a race of people who
seemed to be of a different species to others
she had known, and that the strangest and
most unsympathetic of all was the man
whom she had come there to marry.

"Where was Conn?" she asked herself
again and again. " Why had he gone and
left her there ? He was the only human
being who seemed earthly, and yet he had
departed and left her there alone. Was
that short happy time which she had spent

My Connaught Cousins. 175

with him only a dream ? Was she destined
never to see his face again ? "

Once, she had ventured to mention his
name to Antony, but as she had done so, a
look so sinister had darkened his face, that
she had grown more and more afraid. And
so the gulf which was separating them
seemed to widen. After that she had not
dared to mention Conn's name, but she
thought of him more and more, and won-
dered at the hatred which his brother
seemed to bear him.

But if she did not confide in her lover,
she could not altogether conceal her sorrow
from him. He watched the roses gradually
fade from her cheeks, the brightness from
her eyes ; as her reserve increased his face
grew darker. At last he took the initiative,
and tried to gain her confidence himself.

It was one evening when they were
walking together towards Kildare. A couple
of hours before they had left the castle in
bright sunshine, but now a thick cold mist

176 My Ccnnaught Cousins.

enveloped them like a shroud. Alma could
feel it clinging to her clothes, and hair, and
she shivered violently.

" Alma," said her lover bending towards
her, and taking her cold hands in his, " Alma,
my darling, when are we to marry ? "

The girl started, her heart seemed sud-
denly to stand still, she uttered a faint cry,
and paused trembling.

" What is the matter ? " he cried
anxiously, and at this the girl tried to
force a smile, but only shivered, and cast a
weary look about her.

" I must have been dreaming," she said,
" when your voice awoke me ! See how I
tremble ; had we not better hasten home,
for I am so cold ? "

The rain indeed was gathering thicker
and thicker around them, the silence was
broken only by the low moaning of the sea.
They walked on ; Alma could see the black
tower of the castle looming through the
mist when her lover spoke again.

My Connaught Cousins, 177

"Well, Alma," he said, more gravely
this time, " you have not answered my
question. When will you let me call you
wife ? "

She was not looking at him, she seldom
did that now ; but he was watching her, and
he saw that a look of positive pain passed
across her face ; in a moment it was gone.

" Let me think," she murmured ; " I will
tell you another time — to-morrow, it's so
very sudden ! "

" Sudden ! — when we have waited all these
years ! Sudden ! when you came to Ealdare
to marry me ! "

" Ah, yes, it is foolish of me," she said.
" Papa would not have wished for any delay.
Let it be whenever you please, Antony !
You have waited long enough, God knows ! "

As she uttered the words, the two drew
near to the door of Kildare Castle ; the great
black turrets of the place seemed creeping
towards her as if eager to fold her in their
arms. Alma ran up to her room, and,

VOL. I. M

178 My Connaughi Cousins.

having gained its solitude, stood with both
her hands pressing her aching head. She
could still hear the sea moaning, and pre-
sently she saw that her window was open,
the mist driving in ; she closed it, then she
pressed her forehead against the cold glass,
and stood with closed eyes. Presently the
sound of a gong echoed through the house
and roused her. She put off her damp
clothes, mechanically washed her face and
hands, and smoothed her hair, and descended
the stairs.

Her head was still full of strange sounds,
and she was not able to see clearly. All
the lights seemed dim, and everything was
unreal. She was aware of being in the
dining-room, with her dinner before her, of
two male figures being near her, but she was
only half-conscious of what she was doing.

Suddenly a burst of hearty laughter rang
through the house, and she started as if
from a dream.

" Conn, my boy, you're just in time,"

My ConnaugfU Cousins. 179

said Mr Ross, as the dining-room door flew
open, and Conn, looking handsomer than
ever, stepped into the room.

He smilingly nodded to his father and
Antony, but walked towards Alma with out-
stretched hand. She felt her face flushing,
her Hps smiling, as their hands were clapped
together.

" Oh, I am so glad you have come," she
said ; then, as she turned to resume her seat,
she met the eyes of her lover, which had
been fixed upon her gloomily, with an ex-
pression of sinister suspicion.

When she found herself alone that
night, she did not seek her rest; she sat
down before the turf fire, and began to
think.

*' I was weak and foolish," she said, "just
as I was that night when I told him, oh,
my God ! that my love was unchanged.
He believed in me then, he believes in me
now. I am not fit to be tried like this ! He

i8o My Connaught Cousins.

cannot be my Antony. I have looked at
him, and I cannot find a single trace, and
yet he is going to be my husband ! "

VI.

From the moment of Conn's return, the
life at Kildare Castle underwent a pleasant
change. It seemed to Alma at least that
the young man's coming was like a burst
of summer sunshine after a long spell of
wintry fog and rain.

All that night she slept well, and in the
morning, when she drowsily opened her
eyes, she heard his voice singing gay scraps
of song, she saw the sunlight struggling for
entrance at her window ; and then, when the
sound of the voice died, she heard for the
first time the musical murmur of the sea
as it washed peacefully upon the shore. It
sounded quite glad and happy, now.

She bestowed extra pains upon her toilet
that day, and was pleased at the result.

My Connaught Cousins. i8i

When she entered the breakfast-room she
found bunches of purple heather and wild
thyme placed beside her plate, and she
knew instinctively that Conn had been out
on the cliflf to gather flowers for her.
When Conn, taking her hand in his, raised
it to his lips, she smiled and blushed pret-
tily beneath his gaze ; but her face became
ghastly pale when Antony, advancing from
the shadow, looked in her eyes and placed
her chair. What was the meaning of that
look she asked herself again and again ; why
was it that it made her so heart-sick, and
turned her cheek so pale ; why was it that
it tempted her to shrink from her lover, and
draw her chair ever so little nearer to that
of Conn ? Alma never forgot that look.
Years afterwards she recalled it with the
same secret horror as had filled her breast
that bright summer morning.

Meanwhile, Conn, unconscious of what
was going on between his brother and the
fair young creature to whom he was be-

1 82 My Connaught Cousins.

trothed, plied his knife and fork in a
manner which augured well for the healthi-
ness of the mountain air. Now and again
lie paused to offer some polite brotherly
attention to Alma, and to give her a look
and a smile which made her blush. She
was vexed she could not keep her cheeks
cool, for she felt instinctively that Antony
was still looking at her, noting in sullen
silence every change which flitted over her
face.

The girl was beginning to find her old
dread of Antony deepening into positive
indignation, and on the whole she felt that
the meal would have been a pleasanter one
if he had found it convenient to remain
that morning in his own room. However,
at length the meal was finished. Conn
pulled down his hat from a peg in the hall,
whistled up his dogs, asked Alma if she
would like to accompany him in a stroll
on the beach, and, on her assenting, the
two walked off together."

My Connaught Cousins. iS'*

o

She had asked Antony if he would go
with them, but her lips, not her heart had
spoken, and he had refused. As he did so
he saw that the brightness of her face,
which for a moment had faded, returned.

It was very pleasant to wander along the
shore with Conn, and ere Alma had gone
many yards she entirely forgot the exist-
ence of the moody man who was shut up
in the castle, following with jealous eyes
the two figures as they passed side by side
along the sand. She felt as if a shadow
had been lifted from her soul, as if a sun-
beam had suddenly shot from heaven bring-
ing with it brightness to the sea, and peace
and happiness to every living thing.

From that day the girl's drooping spirits
seemed to revive, and the morbid fancies
which before had assailed her gradually
passed away. She no longer quaked and
trembled at every sound. She slept peace-
fully during the night, a sleep which was
unharassed by dreams, and during the dusk

184 My Connaught Cousins.

of the evening she was not afraid to pass
along the broad corridors aloae. She was
learning to love the music of the waves,
the sweet breath from the hills. She was
beginning to feel that to be the mistress
of Kildare Castle was not so dark a prospect
after all.

But what had come over Antony? In
her newly-found happiness Alma had for-
gotten to note her lover, but now and then
his existence was forced upon her, and at
such times it seemed that a shadow had
crossed her sunshine. For amidst all this
change Antony was changing too. Jealousy
was gnawing at his heart, and converting
the man into a devil. Alma did not notice it,
but Conn did, and he shrank from the looks
which sometimes crossed his brother's face.

A family tragedy was pending, that was
certain.

Conn determined to avoid it, even
although the doing so involved the sacrifice
of himself. For he knew now, that to

My Connaught Cousins. 185

leave Alma would involve a tremendous
sacrifice. The girl had wound her way
into his careless heart, and made him love
as he had thought himself incapable of
loving. At first he had admired her for
the firmness with which she held to her
bond, and he had gone away to avoid
temptation, and to uproot from his heart
the slight tenderness with which her beauty
had already inspired him; but when he
returned and saw her so pale and sad, he
had felt pity, and since then his pity had
melted into a strange sympathy. The
change had been so gradual, that for a time
he himself did not notice it. But one day,
as he was gazing into the hall mirror, he met
Antony's eyes steadfastly regarding him,
and that look awakened him to his danger.
Conn remained in his room all that after-
noon, and in the evening after dinner, when
his father had dropped asleep in his chair,
and Antony had left the room, he took
Alma out on to the terrace to show her the

1 86 My Connaught Cousins.

new moon ; then he told her with outward
composure, but inward trembling, that he
was going away again.

" Going away ? " said the girl faintly,
her cheek turning very pale.

"Yes," continued Conn, manfully re-
pressing the inclination which was strong
upon him, to kiss her pale cheek and enfold
her trembling body in his arms. " I am
going for a raid among the mountains
again, and I start to-morrow morning,
but I mean to get back before your wed-
ding-day."

Conn ceased, and Alma still said nothing.
Her face was white as death, and her eyes
were fixed upon the pale ray of moon-
light which fell faintly upon the sea; she
still kept her trembling hand on Conn's
arm, but her thoughts were travelling back
over that dreary desert of days which she
had spent in Kildare Castle while Conn
was absent.

She raised her face to his.

My Connaught Cousins, 187

" Don't go," she said, ** if you have any
care, any pity for me ; don't go again, and
leave me here alone. I couldn't bear it. I
should go mad, or kill myself, — ^it wouldn't
much matter which."

Conn's hand trembled. Was it possible
that Alma loved him ? If so, his was a
sacrifice indeed.

" Alma," he said, bending above her.
"Antony remains here."

The girl started and bit her lip ; she could
not raise her eyes to his, for they were full
of tears.

" Since you are bent on going,' she said,
'* I suppose we had better say good-bye,"
and she held forth her hand. He took it
in both of his, and drew her towards him
again.

"Alma," he said, **you know, or you
ought to know, that I would give my life to
save you pain."

" Then you will stay ? " she said
quickly.

1 88 My Connaught Cousins.

** Yes, if you wish it, I will stay a little."
Then bending over her he asked softly, —
" Was it so very dreary when I was
away ? "

The girl shuddered and clung close to his
arm.

" Never mind what it was," she said
forcing a laugh, " so long as it is not to be
so again. If you had gone off again as you
did before, I would never have forgiven
you ! "

Conn took her hand and pressed it
softly. At that moment Mr Ross's voice
was heard calling, and the two stepped into
the room.

They were both astonished to see Antony
sitting in an easy-chair close to the window.
For a moment Conn turned rather faint,
but when he looked again at his brother, he
saw that he was fast asleep.

So at least he seemed.

My Connaught Cousins. 189

VII.

So Conn remained, and somehow, since
that short interview in the balcony, the
subtle charm of his presence was increased
tenfold. Outwardly they remained the
same. They still took their solitary walks
along the seashore, or among the desolate
bogs ; but often during these lonely rambles
Antony appeared, and almost forcibly de-
manded that the girl should go with him,
and Alma yielded, knowing as she did so,
that after a brief walk with her lover she
could spend all the evening with Conn,
For they still played and sang together,
while Mr Eoss took his siesta in his easy
chair, and Antony from his shaded nook
by the fire watched them gloomily. As
each day passed. Antony's face grew darker
and darker, and the keenly watched pair
began to be afraid to exchange a word.
And even when they found themselves

190 My Connaught Cousins.

alone they were tongue-tied — full of feel-
ings that would not bear utterance.

Alma knew her weakness, and still she
yielded. Every night, in the solitude of
her chamber, she recalled the face of Conn.
Every morning she came down dreading,
yet half hopibg, that Conn might be gone ;
yet, when his handsome face appeared
before her, the joyful look in her eyes
was unmistakable.

It was this soft look of sympathy bestowed
upon him, at least once a day, that kept
Conn at Kildare. He knew he was playing
a dangerous game, but for the first time in
his life he felt within him the sweet myste-
rious thrills of love, and when his eyes
spoke what his lips would not betray, he
read the answer in the eyes of his brother s
expectant bride.

But Antony loved Alma, and it was
this thought which appalled Conn — this
thought alone which kept him silent when-
ever he found himself alone with the girl.

My Connaught Cousins. 191

By breathing a word to her he knew that
he might crush the one hope which had
kept his injured brother alive for years.

One day the announcement was made
that strangers were coming to the castle.
Two gentlemen from Dublin, who claimed
Mr Ross's hospitality through their acquaint-
ance with his son. Alma did not know
whether she was glad or sorry, but she
ajffected gladness, and determined to vary
the monotony of her existence by giving
her small aid to Bridget.

So, for one day at least, the three principal
actors in our story were parted. Antony
went to meet his friends, Conn roamed off
with gun and dogs, while Alma wandered
from room to room, doing her best to make
the dreary old castle look gay.

She begged the help of Bridget with her
toilet that night, and when it was complete
she descended, looking prettier than she
had done for months. She was late, and
when she pushed open the drawing-room

192 My Connaught Cousins.

door she saw that most of the company-
was there. She could see Father Shamus
and the curate at the far end of the room.
Mr Eoss and Antony were eagerly talking
with two strange men. Her eyes wandered
over to the hearth and rested upon Conn,
who looked like a young Adonis in his
elegant suit of black.

Alma paused in confusion, and gazed
round appealingly at Conn, then Antony
came forward with outstretched hand, and
the next moment she felt her fingers enclosed
in a cold firm grip, while he presented her
to the strangers.

Was it only fancy, or did she see them
start, gaze from her to Antony, from her to
Conn, and then glance significantly into each
other's eyes ? No, it could not be fancy ;
Alma seemed to guess their thoughts, for
she flushed almost angrily.

The dinner passed off" well. Father
Shamus was in his best mood, and the
strangers talked pleasantly and well. An-

My Connaught Cousins. 193

tony alone seemed silent, and secretly
oppressed. Again and again he looked at
Alma with a strange fierce light in his eyes,
which made her sick with fear. It was this
feeling of dread which kept her seated when
the punch was brought in, and she knew
she ought to be away. She had thought
it all over, and she knew that if she went
to the drawing-room Antony would surely
follow her ; and, filled with that instinct of
self-preservation, she dreaded to be alone
with him that night.

So she asked leave to stay, and it was
readily granted; and while the gentlemen
smoked their cigars and drank their wine,
and told their after-dinner stories. Alma
smiled and listened well pleased, trying all
the time to avoid the light which deepened
in her lover's eyes.

Presently the company adjourned to the
drawing-room, and then it was Alma's turn
VOL. I. N

194 ^y Connaught Cousins.

to amuse. She sang her prettiest songs to
amuse the strangers, and played some quaint
old Irish airs to please the priest. It was
not till late in the evening, when both
Father Shamus and the curate rose to go,
that she wished them all good-night, and
retired.

Long after the clock had struck twelve
that night, Antony and the two strangers
were closeted in the room known as " Mr
Antony's study." They had evidently been
talking freely, but now neither of them
spoke. Antony sat plunged in deep
thought, with his eyes on the fire ; one of
the strangers stood on the hearth, smoking
a cigar ; the other was idly toying with
the leaves of a book ; both were watching
him.

Presently one spoke.

" Mr Boss, you must decide to-night."

My Connaught Cousins. 195

" So soon," said Antony, raising his eyes
from the fire.

" Not a moment is to be lost ! "

"If I refuse?"

" You will in all probability be shot I "

** For the last two years I have worked
for the cause zealously and well."

" Precisely ; and you have gone too far
to withdraw."

Again there was silence, then Antony
spoke.

" When must I go to Dublin ? "

" In a few days perhaps, at the latest in
a week."

" And when I get there ? "

" You will be told your duty. The crisis
has come when stem measures are needed.
They will be taken."

Again there was silence long and deep.
Again Antony stared into the fire with
mournful, haggard eyes. Again the two

196 My Connaught Ctmsins.

men watched him keenly. When he raised
his head, he looked straight into their
eyes.

" I accept," he said. " I will go to
Dublin on one condition."

" Name it."

"You must give me a full week here,
because — I wish to take with me my
wife ! "

Love and jealousy had overthrown
patriotism.

All that evening the question in An-
tony's mind had not been What work shall
I have to do ? but " What shall I do about
Alma ? " After much weary trouble and
thought, he had decided that question,
yet the decision seemed to bring little re-
lief to his already disturbed mind.

During that night he walked wearily up
and down his room.

t

My Connaught Cousins. 197

In the morning he came down looking
pale and weary and old. Alma, glancing
at him with gentle, wondering eyes, felt ex-
treme pity mingle with her fear ; and when
later in the day he asked to see her alone,
she granted the request, if not with eager-
ness, at least without reluctance. They
went into the dining-room together.

" Alma," he said, taking her hands, and
plunging at once into the very heart of his
subject, " this cannot go on ; — ^we must be
married at once ! "

The girl did not answer. She shivered
through and through ; then raising her head,
she gazed into his face with patient pleading
eyes, like some poor dumb brute asking for
mercy from its master. She knew that
the hour had come when the very inmost
thoughts of her aching heart must be
spoken. She looked at him long and
earnestly, hoping, yet partly dreading, that

198 My Connaught Cousins.

he would read her thoughts, and so spare
her the pain of speaking. He saw, yet he
would not understand. Finding that the
girl remained silent, he spoke again.

" Listen to me I Some work I have to
do calls me away. I must leave home in
a week, perhaps sooner, I have settled to
go, but when I go my wife must accom-
pany me ! "

This time the girl shrank fearfully from
him, and dropped his hands.

" Oh, Antony ! " she cried, " pity me,
spare me. I — I cannot go."

" Alma ! "

" Oh, do not look at me like that. In-
deed, I have tried ; yes, I have tried so
hard, but I have tried in vain. Antony, for-
give me ! God knows I would not willingly
give you pain. I have been weak and
foolish. I should have spoken before, but
I did not, because — because I was afraid ! "

My Connaught Cousins. 199

She paused, but he said nothing. Even
as she spoke he had turned away, and stood
now with his elbows resting on the mantel-
piece, his eyes gazing fixedly at the
window.

His face was pale and convulsed with
acute pain ; his lips were bloodless.

Alma was gentle-hearted, and the sight
of this silent suffering stirred her to the
very soul. She rose and moved towards
him ; she placed her hand upon his arm,
and let it rest there, almost as if she loved
him.

"Antony, speak one word, say that
you forgive me. Indeed, indeed, it is
better thus. The money that my father
left you shall be yours just the same as if
we had married, and I will respect and care
for you always as a friend, and as a
hroiheirr

As she uttered the last word, Antony

200 My Cannaught Cousins.

started fiercely, and Alma, perceiving for
the first time what she had said, grew
crimson.

He turned, and looked at her intently,
and the sight of his face made her shrink
from him more than ever. He resolutely
took her hand, and compelled her to look
into his face.

" Yes,*' he said slowly, " you have spoken
the truth at last ! Conn has stolen your
love from me ; it is through him you refuse
to become my wife ! " He added more
violently, — "Don't speak, don't answer!
Do you think I do not know? Haven't
I ears to hear, and eyes to see ? Well,
it is only on a par with all the rest.
Antony may work and slave with a will,
but Conn with his cursed smiling face
steps in and takes the reward. He sup-
planted me in my father's heart! He
made rne what I am. I toiled and

My Connaught Cousins. 201

slaved for my people here ; they scarcely
gave me their gratitude, while he was set
up as an idol to be worshipped next to God.
Yes, he has gathered the prizes, and left
me only the blanks, and now he has stolen
the only thing which gave me strength to
live and endure."

" Antony, will you not hear me ? "
*' No, I will not hear you ; you have
said your say ; now, listen to me. I tell
you there comes a day in every man's life
when his endurance ceases. My day has
come ! — why should I strive and suffer ?
Why should I bow my head in obedience
to the will of an unjust God? Why
should I pause and hesitate, when I know
that, so long as Conn is living, the world
will hold neither happiness nor peace for
me?"

The girl stared at him in terror ; she
opened her lips, but the words froze upon

202 My Connaught Cousins.

them ; her breath came in short, quick
pants, but she made no other sound.

" That night," continued Antony, " that
cursed night ! when I heard that he, of all
men on this earth, had gone to bring you
here, my heart misgave me, and I seemed
to feel what there was to come. I said to
myself, * If he leaves me Alma I will for-
give him all, and try to forget ; but if he
takes her from me, I shall hill him.' "

The bloodless lips quivered convulsively.
With a low, tremulous cry, she threw
herself into his arms, and gasped, —

"Antony, he. is your brother."

He roughly shook her from him; she
staggered back and almost fell. Without
one look back, he hurriedly left the room.

Dazed and heart-broken, almost as stupe-
fied as the girl herself, he rushed from the
house, and walked with wild strides across
the mountain. He had not tried to ques-

My Connaught Cousins. 203

tion Alma's decision. Giving his own love
freely, he had been too proud to appear as
a supplicant for love which could not be
as freely returned. But his heart grew
hard, his anger and jealousy intense. His
one feeling now was a deep and unholy
thirst for revenge ; a horrible craving to
strike against the life of the man who, he
believed, had struck so often and so cruelly
against his own.

VIIL

Half stunned and utterly powerless,
Alma remained for a time cold and silent
as a stone. She had staggered back when
he cast her from him, and had fallen into
a chair; and now she sat with her eyes,
dilated with terror, fixed upon the door
through which he had passed. Was she
going to faint ? She feared so. She made

204 My Cannaugkt Cousins.

one Btrong effort, roee, opened the window,
and pnt her head half out to inhale a
breath of air.

It was cold, very cold. The day was
well-nigh spent; for that doll, grey look
on the difis and on the sea told of swiftly
i^pioaching night. There was a thin
drizzle in the air; but though it fell and
lay like hoar frost on the girl's golden
hair, she hardly seemed to heed. She only
knew that the air refreshed her, that the
wild burning and throbbing was gradually
passing away from her brain, and that she
was able to think.

"What must I do ?— what must I do?"
she cried wildly, pressing her hands against
her aching head ; " he will kill him, and
then— Oh, my God ! I think that I shall
die."

The house was frdl of people, but she
could not tell her tale to any one. Mr

L

My Connaught Cousins, 205

Eoss she knew would gaze at her with
mildly reproachful eyes and hush the words
upon her lips ; while if she told the servants
they would raise the neighbourhood with
wild cries, but do absolutely nothing.
What was done she alone must do, confiding
in no one.

Conn was away ; — ^he was off for the day,
he told her when he had come to wish her
good-bye. He had described to her the
route he meant to take, and the house
where he would sleep that night — a neigh-
bour's house — only a few miles away.
Yes, she knew where to find him — she
must go to him now-^tell him of his
brother's wrath, and beg of him never to
return to his home. She felt that Conn
would yield, for her sake, and if -he would
not, why she must go boldly back and sacri-
fice herself to obtain peace, by becoming
Antony's wife.

2o6 My Connaught Cousins.

She opened the door, passed swiftly
through the big, empty, desolate-looking
hall, and crept stealthily up to her room.
She listened: all was silent. She took a
cloak to wrap around her head and shoul-
ders, then she descended the stairs again,
and ran from the house.

What an evening! cold, grey, desolate,
and bleak, with no gleam of sunshine any-
where. The hills were becoming dim in
the shadows of oncoming night, the wind
was moaning softly, and the sea was sighing
as if for the drowned dead. As Alma sped
onward, her eyes grew dim and her heart
beat quicker and quicker. The places aU
around her — made familiar through her
wanderings with Conn — ^were ahnost dear
to her that night. For now she knew
that he was in danger, now she knew that
she must either bid him farewell, or see
him lying dead at her feet. Her heart

My Connaughi Cousins, 207

revealed its secret. She loved him! Yes,
she loved him ; though she had striven and
fought against it, trying with all her
woman's strength to follow the path of
duty, she knew that she had failed.

With trembling limbs, and wildly palpi-
tating heart, she sped swiftly along the
highway, gazing wildly about her for the
sight of a well-known form. Presently,
turning a corner of the road, she saw, close
to her, two men fighting for life.

One was down, the other stood above
him raising a knife. With a wild shriek
she sprang forward, and the knife fell upon
her own breast.

IX.

When Alma opened her eyes, she found
herself lying in bed in her own room at
Eoldare Castle. It was night apparently.

2o8 My Connaught Cousins.

for everything was so still. She lay for
a time with her eyes fixed dreamily upon
the ceiling, her ears listening attentively,
but there came no sound. She turned her
head on the pillow and looked around her.
Yes, it was her own room ; but how
strangely changed it seemed ! There was
a dim light burning on the washstand,
and a smouldering red fire in the grat€,
and near to the fire, seated in an arm-
chair, was a woman.

" Bridget," said Alma softly.

The woman started, rose, and came to*
wards the bed. It was Bridget, but how
grave her face was ; and surely her gentle
eyes filled with tears as she bent low and
kissed the girl.

" Praise be to the Lord," she murmured ;
" will ye take a drink, mavoumeen, and
then try again to sleep ? "

The girl moved uneasUy, and raised her

My Connaught Cousins. 209

hand to push back the hair from her burn-
ing brow. What did it all mean ? What
had happened? Her brain was so con-
fused and weak, she coidd not think — the
past seemed an utter blank.

** Bridget," she murmured, " what'is the
matter — what has happened — am I ill ? "

Then her extreme weakness overcame
her ; her lips quivered, her eyes filled, and
she seemed about to faint.

Bridget, seeing those signs of distress,
grew more agitated. She clasped the girl's
hand and stroked her cheek as if she had
been soothing a crying child.

" Hush, mavoumeen, don't cry, for the
love of God," she murmured. " No, you're
not well, machree ; but just drink this, 'twill
soothe ye : go to sleep now, just to please
Bridget, and in the morning I'll tell ye
all."

She took a seat beside the bed, and

VOL. I.

2IO My Connaught Cousins.

continued to stroke the girl's hand gently;
while Alma, completely overcome by her
extreme weakness, cried quietly for a time,
and then sank again into another sleep.

Bridget sat and watched.

As she saw the heavy eyes close, the
beautiful lips part, and listened to the
heavy measured breathing, her tears fell
fast; but her heart was full of thankful-
ness to God. She felt that the danger
was passed, and that, as Alma's strength
returned, the heavy sorrow which had hung
threateningly above Ealdare Castle would
surely pass away.

Never would Bridget forget that night,
more than a week before, when she had
seen Conn enter his father's house with
Alma's bleeding and seemingly lifeless
body in his arms. For a moment the
castle was in a turmoil ; a mounted messen-
ger had been despatched for the doctor;

My Connaught Cousins. 2 1 1

but one of the strangers from Dublin —
possessing a little surgical knowledge— had
dressed the wound with such rapidity as
to save the girl's life. Then he had taken
upon himself to telegraph to Dublin for
a doctor, and the doctor had come, and
after examining the wound carefully, he
had said there was little chance for the
girl to live. But he had stayed and tended
her. And so he and many others had
watched her slowly pass out of the shadow
of death.

And during all this anxious time, where
was Antony ? [He lay a prisoner in Gul-
ranny gaol. Stricken to the heart with
remorse, he had straightway given himself
up to justice. And now he, the young
master of Kildare, was likely to be tried
for murder. No wonder Bridget's eyes
grew dim ; no wonder her kind heart
swelled almost to bursting.

212 My Connaught Cousins.

The crisis was passed, but Alma's strength
did not return very quickly. For days
she lay with closed eyes, only giving signs
of life by regular and gentle breathing.
Powerless to rise or speak, she was, never-
theless, partly conscious of what was going
on around her. She was conscious of people
moving in and out of the room; of kind
hands clasping hers, or gently bathing her
feverish brow ; then she heard their voices
by her bedside, and one day she was
aware of being in the room alone with
Conn.

He knelt down by the bed and kissed
her thin, white hand, and, as he kissed, she
felt his tears upon it ; and, though she was
so weak and ill, she felt as if she had sud-
denly passed out of black darkness into the
brightness of a summer's noon.

When Alma recovered true consciousness,
she opened her eyes in the full light of day.

^ ^ <

1 •'■

: it--

i/ii:^

My Connaught Cousins. 213

Her room was empty, but she could hear
the sound of feet moving about below, and
the occasional barking of the dogs chained
in the courtyard. In the grate a peat fire
still burnt brightly, and through the un-
curtained window her eyes rested upon
flakes of falling snow, and snow lay also
in little flakes upon the window-frame ; and
while she lay and gazed, she could hear the
sea moaning and sighing as it used to do in
the old days when she first came to Kildare.

How long ago that seemed ! How much
had happened since then ! Oh, if she could
only find that it had all been a dream !

Suddenly she was conscious of some
movement in the room, and, looking round,
she saw that in a chair beside the bed sat
Mr Eoss, his grey head bowed low.

She reached out her hand and touched
his.

" Mr Ross," she said, " dear Mr Ross, I

214 My Cannaught Cousins.

remember everything now ; I have awakened,
and I remember! How long have I been
lying here ? — ^it must be very long, since
winter has come. Tell me where is An-
tony ? "

He had been gazing at her up to this;
but now, with a terrible look of pain upon
his face, he turned away.

" Ah, do not speak ! you have told me,"
she cried ; " they have taken him ; but do
not fear — ^they shall not harm him, because
he has done no wrong. It was an accident
— only an accident ; I threw myself in his
way, and got wounded — ^that was all. You
must send to them — I will write to them —
they must set your son free ! "

** You will do this ? — my child, can you
forgive him ? "

** Forgive him ! Dear Mr Eoss, 'tis all of
you who have to forgive me. You have
had nothing but misery about you since I

My Connaught Cousins. 215

came to Kildare, but, when I have seen
Antony — I — I will go away ! " ..." It
has been very sad and bitter for us all,"
continued the girl ; " if it could have been
different I should have been glad— and I
tried so hard — so very hard — ^but it was all
too much for me to bear. . . . Mr Boss,
give me some paper that I may write — ^they
MUST set Antony free ! "

• ...■■••
To obtain Antony's freedom was by no
means so easy a matter as Alma had ima-
gined. When the charge of manslaughter
had been withdrawn, he was still retained
on a charge of high treason !

For, during the time when Alma lay
hovering between life and death, there had
been a tumult in the village. First came
the news of a murder which had been per-
petrated in Dublin, and which was so hor-
rible in its details as to freeze the blood of

2i6 My Connaught Cousins.

the most enthusiastic patriot ; next came
the news that the two men arrested on
suspicion had, only two days before the
murder, been brought by Antony Boss as
guests to Kildare Castle; further inquiries
induced the suspicion that Antony, during
his last visit to America, had been secretly
employed in stirring up rebellion amongst
the Irish- American people, and that, more-
over, since his return, he had been present
at several lawless Eibbon meetings in his
own village.

All these were only suspicions ; still, as
they were grave ones, they had to be care-
fully and duly weighed. At length, as no
tangible evidence could be brought against
him, he was informed that, though he would
be kept under strict police surveillance, he
was free.

The news of the young master's freedom,
getting somehow into the air, was wafted to

My Connaught Cousins. 217

Kildaxe Castle almost before the prisoner
himself, dazed by the series of horrible
events which had lately come to pass,
realised that it was true. The news passing
from mouth to mouth gladdened everybody,
for Antony, despite his strange moods, was
popular with the tenants. Bridget piled
the fire with logs until the blaze flared half-
way up the chimney, while Mr Boss busied
himself to see that all was right for the
home-coming of his unfortunate son. Still
there was a tinge of sadness over all this
joy, for that very morning Antony had
written to say that if he returned to Kildare
Castle he must be greeted with no rejoicing,
as at the return of an honourable man ;
the life that had been saved through Alma's
mercy, rather than his goodness, should be
fairly prized at last.

Thus it came to pass that Antony made
his homeward journey in strict privacy on

2i8 My Connaught Cousins.

a cold dark night, when the earth was
thickly covered with a mantle of snow, and
clouds gathered darkly above. He dismissed
the car which brought him when he was
still a mile from home, and turning his
face seaward, continued his journey on foot
across the dreary snow-covered waste. He
had completed half his journey when the
clouds became broken, and snow began to
fall ; it clung coldly about him, saturating
his clothes, whne the wind, blowing half a
hurricane at sea, smote him fiercely in the
face.

It was an inclement night, but he
was glad of it, for he knew that in such
weather the ways must be deserted and no
human creatures abroad to witness his sorry
return home. So, with one spark of com-
fort in his heart, he buttoned his coat
around him, and resolutely made his way
through the storm.

My Connaugkt Cousins. 219

Presently he found himself close to his
father's door.

He paused. The sea was roaring heavily,
the wind was shrieking, the thin flakes of
snow were wildly whirled in the air ; even
the massive turrets of Kildare Castle seemed
to rock beneath the furious clutch of the
wind. He walked forward. The diuing-
room window was uncurtained; he looked
in.

The room was empty, save for one form,
upon which his eyes remained fixed. A
lighted lamp with a green shade stood on a
centre table, and a turf fire filled the grate,
and lying on a sofa, which was drawn up
near to the fire, was Alma. Ah ! so changed.
She had come to Kildare Castle a young,
happy, contented girl ; only a few months
had passed since then, and yet, as she lay
there, with the lamplight and firelight upon
her, Antony saw that she had been turned

220 My Connaught Cousins.

into a sorrowful woman. And yet she had
had the heart to forgive — ^to intercede for
the man who had struck so cruelly at her
own.

He moved away from the window. Then
he advanced quietly and opened the hall
door. ]VIr Eoss was in the hall ; stifling a
ciy of joy upon his lips, he rushed forward
to welcome his son ; but Antony, after one
warm hand-shake, quietly put him aside.

" I want to speak to Aer," he said ; and
then he entered the room where she sat.

The opening of the door aroused her ; she
looked round and saw him. For a moment
there was silence, then her two hands were
impulsively extended, as she cried, sobbing
hysterically, —

" Antony, welcome home ! '*

He came forward, but he did not say a
word. He took her white, wasted hand in
his. There, upon her third finger, still

My Connaught Cousins. 221

glittered the ring which he had sent her,
now nearly two years ago— the ring which
bound her to him. For a moment his face
was irradiated, then the glad light passed alto-
gether from his eyes. Slowly, but deliber-
ately, he drew off the ring and put it in his
pocket, then he bent down to kiss her hand.

This was his atonement.

Some time passed, and the silence between
them was even more eloquent than words.
Then Alma spoke,—

" Antony," she said, " will you let me do
one thing to night, that I can think of with
gladness tUl my dying day ? "

" Yes, Ahna."

She rose and left the room ; almost before
he had time to think she returned, but not
alone. She walked up to the hearth where
Antony was standing, took his hand, and
placed it quietly in that of Conn.

As the two men stood nervously grasping

222 My Connaugkt Cousins.

each other's hands, Alma sank down upon the
couch, and they saw that she was crying.

'* Alma," they exclaimed simultaneously ;
but she looked up smiling sadly through her
tears,—

"Do not mind me," she said; "I could
not help crying, because I feel so glad I
came to Kildare."

X.

A few days of peace and sad contentment,
such as bad not been known for many a
day within the gloomy walls of Kildare
Castle ; then came a parting — regarded with
genuine sorrow on all sides. Antony was
about \o try his fortunes in America, while
Alma had ncoepted the invitation of some
friends to spend the winter in Dublin. This
expatriatiou to America had, in fact, been
made the condition of Antony's release

My Connaught Cousins. 223

from prison, and he had accepted because
he had other, besides political, reasons for
wishing to put the sea between himself
and Kildare. It was arranged, therefore,
that he and Bridget should accompany
Alma to the end of her destination, while
Antony continued alone on his way across
the sea.

It was a long dreary winter, and one
destined to be made memorable by a series
of horrible crimes. A long-suj0fering and
terribly down-trodden people had arisen at
last, determined at all hazards to assert
their strength, and cast oflF the yoke which
bound them. Ireland was in revolt — a
species of civil war seemed about to ensue ;
it was man against man, brother against
brother, and the snow which covered the
land was in places stained with blood.
Weak-minded people grew terribly afraid,
and instead of facing the inevitable, hastened

224 ^y Connaugkt Cousins.

to betake themselves to foreign lands.
Amongst these latter were the people whose
hospitality Alma had accepted when she
thought it her duty to take farewell of
Kildare.

" We will go to London for a few months,
iny dear," said the lady of the house, patting
Alma's hand, " and return when this dread-
ful state of things is over."

"Leave Ireland!" said Alma, with a
sinking at the heart; "but there is no
danger to us. If they strike, it is only at
people who have struck so cruelly at them.
Surely you are not afraid ? "

" Afraid ! well, no— -certainly not, dear ;
but I do not like looking upon unpleasant
things when it is just as easy to look at
pleasant ones. When I am in London these
Irishmen may kill as many of each other as
they choose, it wont matter to me ; but by
spring I trust they will have got rather tired

My Connaught Cousins. 225

of the sport, and I shall be able to come
comfortably home again."

Alma did not answer. She went up to
her room, sat down to her desk, and hurriedly
penned the following note : —

" My deae Mr Eoss, — My friends, alarmed
at the state of things here, have decided to
go to London. They have asked me to
accompany them, but I feel I cannot leave
Ireland. May I come back to Kildare ?
Yours ever affectionately,

" Alma Clifford."

Two days later. Alma, sitting in the
drawing-room at Stephen's Green, was
wondering at having received no reply
to her letter, when she was somewhat
startled by the sudden appearance of Mr
Ross. The old gentleman walked for-
ward in his courtly way, and taking

VOL. L p

2^6 My Connaugkt Cotisins.

the hands of the astonished girl^ said
quietly,—

" This is the answer to your letter, Alma.
I have come to take you home."

So Alma went back to Kildare Castle, and
in two months after her arrival there she
became the wife of Conn Ross. They spent
the early days of their honeymoon among
the Kenmare lakes. After it was over, they
returned to Kildare Castle, which was hence-
forth to be their home.

• • • • •

Thus ended Oona's tale. I read it every
word, then I laid the precious manuscript
aside, and went to sleep.

The next morning when my toilet was
completed, I put the story in my pocket,
and leisurely descended the stairs. The
breakfast gong had not sounded, so I passed
out of the open front door, and was lucky
enough to find Oona strolling about among

My Connaught Cousins. 227

the trees. She looked half-expectant, half-
nervous, as if she longed for, yet dreaded,
my opinion on her work.

" Capital ! " I cried at once, smoothing
back her golden hair, and kissing her fore-
head. "Where does it all come from, Oona ? "

She laughed in a sort of nervous hysteri-
cal way, and looked up at me with all the
shy delight of a child.

" You really like it, Jack ? "

" Very much, indeed. And now for my
criticism. If you hadn't told me beforehand
that it was true, I should have said it was
slightly improbable towards the end."

I thought Oona looked rather crestfallen
at this, but she said, —

" Go on, Jack, tell me all you think. If
I am ever going to publish anything, I must
get used to criticism."

" Well, I will tell you. It struck me as
I finished the story, that a man such as you

228 My Connaught Cousins.

describe Antony Boss to have been, would
never have come to forgive his brother ? "

" You don't think so ? "

" If you say he did, I suppose he must
have done. This proves to you that nature
is not art. To make this story artistic and
give it verisimilitude — ^that is to say, to
make it read like the real thing, you must
write a new and a fictitious end."

Oona laughed delightedly.

" Allyour theories are upset, Jack," she said.

"Are they ? "

" Why, the end is fictitious ! Of
course it is. The real story was shock-
ing. Antony and Conn fought that day
when they met on the road, and when
Alma arrived at the spot to warn Conn not
to come home, she saw his dead body on the
ground, and Antony standing near with a
knife in his hand. Old Mr Boss died of a
broken heart, and when Antony's trial

My Connaught Cousins. 229

came on, Alma was the principal witness
gainst him."

" Yes, go on."

" Well, she had to speak of course, and the
end of it was, that Antony was sentenced
to death ; but for some reason or other, per-
haps on account of the provocation he had
received, the jury recommended him to
mercy. Afterwards his sentence was com-
muted to penal servitude for life. He died
after being two years in New South
Wales."

" And Alma ? "

" She gave all her money away to chari-
ties, and entered a convent as a working nun.
She died some years afterwards. All Conn's
money, the Kildare estate, and the castle
passed to a very distant branch of the Eoss
family, but ever since that time no one has
ever lived there, and the castle consequently
has been allowed to become a complete ruin.

230 My Connaught Cousins.

They say it is haunted, that Alma and
Conn walk there hand in hand ; and several
of the caulighs aver that they have seen
the dark figure of Antony sitting on the
spot where he murdered his brother."

" And why, may I ask, did you refuse to
give us the real truth at the end of your
story ? "

" Why ? " said Oona, opening her blue
eyes their widest. " Now, Jack, do you
suppose, if I had done so, I should ever
have got a person to read it ? "

A joking reply was on the tip of my
tongue, but remembering the manner in
which my last attempt of that kind had
been received, I very wisely refrained.

"The public," continued Oona gravely,
" dislike unhappy endings, therefore I have
resolved to make all my stories end
happily. . . . But, Jack, I wanted to ask
5^ou one thing. Would you — would you — "

My Connaught Cousins. 231

" Would I — ^would I ? Yes, I daresay I
would, darUng ; but what is it ? "

" Well, I mean, if I were to get ready a
few more stories like this, would you send
them to London for me and get them pub-
lished somewhere ? "

I reflected. I was not the kind of man
to do things for nothing, and therefore I
replied, —

" Yes, on one condition ? "

" Ah, what is that ? "

" Merely that for an hour or two every
day you allow me to come to your study
for the purposes of literary ccrifisultatiori ! "

Oona readily consented, adding graciously,
— " I will take up a box of papa's cigars, so
that you may thoroughly enjoy your-
self."

END OF VOL. I.

OOLBTON AND SON, PRINTBBS, KDINBUBtH.